The red Ford Focus drew up alongside. I opened the door and was about to get in when Nick held up his palm. “I don’t want you getting piss all over my car. Sit on the jumper you put in your bag.”
I stared at him for a few seconds without moving. My trousers were mostly dry by now. I was sorely tempted to ignore his instruction, but eventually I complied. I spread the pullover across the seat and lowered myself down, wincing at the pain from my torn muscle.
Nick pulled away from the kerb before I had time to fasten the seatbelt. I clicked the buckle home and raised my hand to lower the hoodie.
“No, leave it on,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road, “and carry on wearing the sunglasses too. There are loads of traffic cameras along here, and we don’t want to make it easy for them to track our movements.”
“Aren’t you being a bit paranoid?” I asked, turning sideways in the seat to look at him.
“Paranoia is what will keep you alive for the next few days,” he replied. “Have you already forgotten what I said about no questions and no discussion?”
“Am I allowed to ask where we’re going?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” He reached out and clicked on the radio. The strains of a popular Duran Duran track from the eighties blared out of the speakers.
“Do you have to have it on so loud?” I asked.
In response, Nick leaned forward and turned up the dial another notch. When I extended my hand, he slapped it away. I folded my arms and sank back in the seat. The song eventually ended, and the over-enthusiastic presenter promised more music from the same era after the commercial break. As the advertisements started to play, Nick twisted the knob and reduced the volume to a more comfortable level.
We drove without speaking for another ten miles. At no point during the journey did Nick exceed the speed limit. As we approached a junction to the left, he flicked on the indicator and slowed. The green logo of a Holiday Inn sign appeared over the tops of the trees.
“This will do for now,” Nick announced. “I want you to stay in the car while I book us into a room.”
“There’s something wrong with my card. I tried to make a payment on a website a few minutes ago, but they declined me.”
Nick flashed me a disdainful look. “I don’t expect you to pay. If you engaged your brain for more than a microsecond, you’d realise that credit card payments are a pretty good way of locating somebody, especially if they’re charged to a hotel.”
He steered into a space close to the reception. Removing the key from the ignition, he lowered his hoodie and opened the door. Before closing it, he leaned back inside. “Remember, stay here.”
I watched as he strolled towards the entrance and disappeared from view. The silence was a welcome relief after twenty minutes of music I would never have chosen to listen to.
It was five fifteen by the time Nick emerged. He strode towards me, the shades hiding his eyes. He opened the door, levered himself inside and started the engine.
“Are we not staying here?” I asked.
“I’m moving it to the end of the row,” he replied, apparently forgetting his directive for me to ask no questions. “If anybody comes asking, we don’t want them to remember the car—although that’s why I chose this model and colour. I’ll also swap the number plates over when it gets dark.”
When he had reversed into the space furthest from the entrance, he twisted in the seat to talk to me. “When we go in, keep the hood up and the sunglasses on. If possible, try to face away from the camera, but don’t make a big thing of it. It’s mounted above the reception desk.”
“Okay.”
“Try to act natural. The receptionist thinks we’re a gay couple.”
“Right. Why would she think that?”
Nick sighed and shook his head. “Two men sharing a room? And she’s a he.”
“It’s been a long day,” I muttered.
“Let’s go.”
I got out of the car, grabbing the jumper from the seat and stuffing it in the laptop bag. The period of inactivity had caused the torn muscle to tighten. I limped behind Nick as he made his way to the entrance. I trailed after him through the rotating door, past the reception area and towards the All Rooms sign. As we passed the desk, I kept my head angled away from the white dome of the camera.
“Enjoy your stay, Mr Dixon,” the male receptionist called as I followed Nick through the open doorway. My protector didn’t reply. He turned right and strode to the end of the corridor. There, he withdrew a keycard from his pocket and swiped it through the lock.
Chapter 24
Nick shoved the door open and marched straight to the window. He parted the hanging blinds and stared out at the car park. The red Focus occupied the parking space right outside.
“Good,” he said, tossing his rucksack on the nearest bed. “The ground floor makes it easy to get out if we have to leave in a hurry. There’s also a fire escape at the end of the corridor.”
“How many nights did you book us in for?”
“Two, but the receptionist told me I could always extend if necessary.”
“And how long do you need to keep me alive to earn your money?”
“The contract runs until midnight on Thursday.”
“What happens after that?” I asked, flopping onto the mattress.
“I record proof of life and leave. Before you ask any more questions, I have some of my own. By the way, I’m sorry if I was a bit short with you earlier.”
I frowned in puzzlement. It was as if Nick’s character had changed at the flick of a switch. Suddenly, he was apologising for his previous behaviour.
“In this business, it’s essential to stay focused,” he continued. “When we’re out there, I need you to react instantly to what I tell you. If you stop to question my instructions, you will probably die. You have to trust I’m competent at what I do. I was also pissed off that I had to chase you across town.” His face cracked in a grin.
I stared back at him humourlessly. “You said you had some questions.”
“Yeah. Do you know who’s trying to kill you?”
“No—well actually, I’m not sure. You entered the café just after another man. He’s the boyfriend of the girl serving behind the counter. She’s a former pupil of mine. It’s possible he might be the killer.”
Nick laughed. “The beefy guy? An assassin? I don’t think so, not unless he’s a total amateur. The secret of being successful in my line of work is to go unnoticed. If you stick out in any way, people will remember you or see you coming. Anyway, why is he after you? Did you bonk his girlfriend?”
“No, I was her teacher.”
“What’s that got to do with it? She looked old enough to me.”
“I didn’t have sex with her, okay? I suspect it’s all tied back to the dark web.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “You better explain. I need to hear everything, no matter how unimportant it may seem.”
I started with finding the note on the day of the murder and took him through my statement to the police and the appearance of the three policemen at my house. He allowed me to talk, only stopping me to ask an occasional question. I described the visit to my brother-in-law and his reluctance to speak to me. I ended with the text message containing the new login details, the blocking of my bank card, and the simultaneous arrival of Molly’s boyfriend and Nick at the café.
Nick scratched his cheek. “It sounds like you’ve got yourself involved with the wrong people. I take it you don’t know what the police were looking for on your computer.”
“Not a clue. Jamie—he’s my brother-in-law—told me to stay away from them.”
“Good advice in my experience,” Nick said with a grin.
“I assume Jamie hired you,” I asked.
“That’s the most likely scenario from what I’ve heard. The whole point of the dark web thing is anonymity, though, so I can’t be sure who I’m really working for.”
“How will you get paid?”
“I use an encrypted messaging app to send and receive messages. Payment is in Bitcoin.”
A sudden thought occurred to me. “What exactly did the job description say?”
Nick fixed me with a stare. When he spoke, his voice was subdued. “It was originally for a killing.”
“You’re saying you accepted it expecting you were going to have to kill someone?”
“When the person who placed the contract contacted me to provide the details, he offered me a fifty per cent bonus to turn it into a protection assignment. He also added five hundred quid in expenses. That’s what is paying for this room.”
“Let me get this straight. You perform executions for a living?”
Nick folded his arms. “Don’t judge me. I joined the armed forces at age eighteen and gave twenty years of my life in the service of my country, travelling to the arse end of nowhere and killing people on behalf of the government. The only difference is now I get paid properly for doing the same thing. When I left the army, I drifted in and out of a few jobs. The exact details aren’t important.
“My skills aren’t exactly transferable to civilian work, so I’m basically unemployable. Yeah, I could earn minimum wage stacking shelves or working as a bouncer, but what sort of existence is that? By taking on this job, I’ll take home more in a few days than most people make in two or three months. In any case, most of the targets who wind up dead are criminals themselves, so they’re no great loss to society.
“For example, one of my contacts told me that guy who was murdered on Monday was into drugs and prostitution in a big way. Whoever knocked him off was doing us all a favour.”
“It wasn’t you, was it?” I asked.
The grin returned to Nick’s face. “Well, if it was me, I wouldn’t tell you, now would I? So, there’s no real point asking.”
Another question occurred to me. “What time today did you accept the contract?”
Nick raised his eyes in thought. “It must have been one-thirty, two o’clock.”
“The timing is wrong. The job I saw on the site when I was in the café couldn’t have been the one Jamie placed.”
“No, I accepted mine at least two hours earlier.”
“Which means there are two separate jobs. Somebody else is trying to kill me.”
Nick shrugged. “It looks that way. But don’t worry; you’ve got me to protect you.”
“Until Thursday midnight,” I added.
“Yes, until Thursday,” he agreed.
The conversation lapsed into silence.
I broke it by asking another question. “If you aren’t sure that Jamie placed the contract, how did you get my sister’s phone?”
“The pink thing with stars? He put it in a plastic bag, hid it and sent me a message telling me where to find it. I have no use for it anymore. You may as well take it back.”
Nick rummaged in his rucksack, pulled out Cathy’s mobile and removed the rear cover. “I’ll hang onto the battery for the moment if that’s alright. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but it would be best if there was no temptation.”
“Can’t the authorities track a phone even if it isn’t turned on?”
Nick laughed. “You’ve seen too many spy films. How can it send a signal if there’s no power?”
“I’ve no idea how mobile phones work.”
“Believe me; it won’t be a problem.”
“Right.”
“Anyway, I’m going to take a shower. Don’t leave the room and don’t open the door to anybody.”
Nick pulled the hoodie over his head and stripped off the T-shirt beneath. As he turned towards the bathroom, I couldn’t help but notice the puckered scar on his left shoulder blade and the blue tattoos ringing his biceps.
Chapter 25
Nick emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist.
“It’s all yours,” he said as he stretched out on top of the bed.
I limped through the doorway, turning the lock behind me. A curtain of humid air, tinged with a fruity scent, hit me as I entered. The small, white-tiled room contained a toilet, a washbasin and a shower. A thick layer of condensation coated the mirror above the sink. A stack of towels occupied a metal rack to the right of the porcelain bowl. Two white towelling dressing gowns hung from a hook on the back of the door.
I stripped out of my clothes and leaned into the cubicle to turn on the water. When it had reached a comfortable temperature, I stepped inside and cranked the dial towards the hot end. The jets scalded my skin as I shuffled from side to side, trying to wash away the memories of the day. I remained under the flow until clouds of steam filled the small room.
Shutting off the tap, I grabbed a towel and approached the sink. I wiped the mirror with the palm of my hand and leaned forward to inspect my reflection. The face staring back at me belonged to a stranger. How could I have changed from an ordinary person who taught teenagers English to somebody who needed a bodyguard to protect him from a hitman in the space of fewer than two days?
The condensation quickly misted the surface. I glanced at the heap of discarded clothes. The thought of putting them on again in their currents state didn’t appeal. I cracked the door and peered through the gap. Nick lay in the position I had left him with his hands behind his head.
“Are we eating out tonight?” I asked.
Nick snapped his gaze in my direction. “We need to keep you out of sight. There’s a takeaway around the corner, so I’ll get something from there in a bit.”
“I was going to wash my clothes after ... Anyway, they should be dry by morning if I leave them on the radiator.”
Nick’s lips twisted in a malicious grin. “Good idea. I don’t want to spend three days cooped up in here with you stinking of piss.”
I closed the door, turned on the hot tap and filled the sink. Pushing my jeans and boxer shorts under the water, I added the contents of one of the mini shower gel bottles and worked it into the fabric. It took a long time to rinse all the soap out, but eventually, I wrung the clothes dry and draped them over the radiator. Tomorrow, a floral scent would follow me around, but it was far better than the alternative.
I grabbed a white dressing gown from the back of the door and returned to the bedroom. When I entered, Nick was fully clothed and bent over tying a shoelace.
He looked up at me. “I’m going out to get something to eat. Is a burger okay? I’ll shop for other supplies tomorrow.”
I wasn’t a great fan of fast food but didn’t care enough to object. “Yeah, fine.”
Nick straightened up. “The same rules apply as before. Don’t open the door to anybody. Keep the curtains closed. Don’t wander off anywhere. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The latch clicked as the door swung shut behind him. I picked up the television remote control from the writing desk and flopped onto the bed. I prodded the power button and flicked through the channels. The first two stations were showing advertisements. The BBC six o’clock news had just started on the third channel. As I switched over, a male newscaster finished announcing the headlines.
The main story focused on the politician who had failed to declare his membership on the board of a company, which had received government grants. The man had finally bowed to pressure from both his colleagues and the press and resigned his seat. I found it hard to believe only twenty-four hours had passed since this had been breaking news on the night I first learned about the killings. A lot had changed for me in that time. Two days ago, I had been looking forward to six weeks of vacation. Here I was now, stuck in a hotel room with a professional hitman for protection, hiding from somebody who wanted to kill me.
Half an hour passed with no mention of the murders. Nick had still not returned when the programme ended, and the theme tune for the regional news started. I glanced at my watch even though I knew the time. All thoughts of Nick’s whereabouts vanished when I heard the headlines and saw my face plastered across the television sc
reen.
“The hunt is on tonight for a local man suspected of involvement in child pornography. Police have issued an arrest warrant for Alex Parrott, aged thirty-four, a teacher of English at a secondary school in Fleet, Hampshire. They are seeking the help of the public in tracking down the suspect.
“Mr Parrott disappeared from his home shortly after officers searched the premises and removed computing devices for further analysis. A spokesman urged anybody who might know of Mr Parrott’s whereabouts to come forward. While it is not believed he poses any specific danger, official advice is to call the emergency services rather than approaching him directly. There will be more on this story in our later bulletin at ten-thirty.”
The blood drained from my face. A block of ice formed in my stomach. I stared at the screen in disbelief. A whooshing sound rushed in my ears. Scrabbling across the bed, I pulled the laptop from its case, plugged the power lead into the wall and turned it on. I waited impatiently for the machine to complete its start-up sequence.
While it booted, I grabbed the brown, leather-covered booklet from the dressing table and scanned the contents for the Wi-Fi passcode. After what seemed a lifetime, the password box popped up. With trembling fingers, I typed in my abducted sister’s name and the date of her disappearance. After another interminable wait, the desktop appeared. I immediately clicked on the wireless network icon. Holiday Inn Guest occupied the top spot in the listed connections. I transposed the code and started a browser window.
I figured the quickest way to get more facts was to search for my own name. A long list of news websites headed the results. Topmost was the BBC page. I selected the link. My eye ran down the screen, scanning the text. There was little additional information above what I had already heard on the television. I tried several other pages but discovered nothing new.
I switched off the laptop and returned it to its case moments before the door to the room opened. The odour of fast food wafting from the bag clutched in Nick’s hand turned my stomach. I scrambled off the bed and rushed into the bathroom, the pain from my damaged calf muscle wiped from my mind. Hunched over the toilet, I dry heaved several times before the bile rose in my throat, flooding my mouth with the acrid taste of vomit.
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