The Hunter v-1

by Tom Wood

  ‘I’m going to get a gun.’

  ‘You have access to one in London?’

  He looked at her. ‘Is that a question?’

  ‘I knew where you lived, nothing more,’ she said. ‘If that’s what you mean.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Whether anyone else does is another matter.’

  ‘Seif’s bodyguards are armed, so it’s a chance I’ll have to take.’

  ‘It’s still two against one.’

  His expression didn’t change. ‘Poor odds for them.’

  ‘What exactly are you planning?’

  ‘We don’t know whether he’s going to be at the house or apartment later, and, like you said, his office is out. That leaves one option.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘I’ll have to get to him somewhere between all three.’

  CHAPTER 54

  Central Intelligence Agency, Virginia, USA

  Tuesday

  08:17 EST

  Procter walked at a pace slightly faster than normal, which for a guy of his size and age wasn’t an easy feat. He was late for the morning briefing and getting his fat ass into one of the skinny agency chairs three minutes late instead of four was his priority. He entered the elevator and rode it up to the top floor. He nodded and grumbled greetings to colleagues as he strode down the corridors. When he pushed open the heavy soundproof door to the briefing room, three sets of eyes looked his way.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. Patricia’s been up half the night with her head hanging over the toilet and looking like an extra from a zombie movie. I got stuck with the school run.’

  Chambers smiled and gave him a look that said no problem. For once she was looking a little rough around the edges. Ferguson and Sykes were sitting together on the opposite side of the conference table and looking like they were their own private boys’ club. Procter pulled out a chair between the two camps.

  There was some perfunctory small talk before Alvarez began his report.

  ‘Last night, Paris time, agents from the French police’s counterterrorism unit attempted and failed to apprehend a male suspect who they believe murdered Andris Ozols and seven other foreigners a week ago. During the attempt a shootout ensued that claimed the lives of several police officers and left others in the hospital.’

  ‘How sure are we that this suspect is Ozols’s killer?’ Chambers asked.

  ‘The French certainly think so. As I understand it, an agent with the DGSE at Charles de Gaulle on other business identified the individual as he left passport control. He was put under immediate surveillance until he left the airport when he entered a taxi, after which he was followed around the city by a police helicopter. I doubt they knew for certain when he was first spotted at De Gaulle, but they wouldn’t have tried to take him down if they weren’t sure. And the fact that he shot his way out of a RAID assault definitely fits our guy’s MO. I think there can be little doubt.’

  Procter asked, ‘What was he doing back in Paris?’

  ‘That’s yet to be established,’ Alvarez replied. ‘But he was observed entering an apartment occupied by a woman. That’s where the RAID team attempted to take both persons into custody. It’s unclear at the moment exactly how they managed to escape.’

  ‘I don’t suppose that makes much difference,’ Ferguson muttered.

  ‘At the moment those details aren’t the most important point,’ Chambers said. ‘What I want to know is, who’s the woman?’

  ‘The French claim she’s an unidentified Parisian and not much else,’ Alvarez answered. ‘But they know a lot more than they’re telling us. They’re aware we weren’t exactly forthcoming about Ozols, so until we enter a little quid pro quo I think we’ve reached the limit of what they’ll tell us just yet.

  ‘The authorities have managed to keep the press at bay so far, so we’ve got no intel that way, but a second major shooting in a little over a week is a seriously big deal in that part of the world. More details might come out in the news. However, we’ve been lucky, and the NSA has grabbed us a few useful intercepts. According to the French Secret Service she’s an American.’

  Procter, who had been looking out of the window, straightened in his seat. ‘An American?’

  ‘Her name is Rachel Swanson, but the DGSE believe this is an alias.’

  ‘What else do we know about her?’ Chambers asked.

  ‘That’s it so far.’

  Sykes asked, ‘Do we have anything to indicate why he met with her?’

  ‘That’s the question,’ Alvarez said. ‘Maybe she’s his lover or just a friend, but I’m thinking business associate is more likely.’

  ‘Employer?’ Procter asked.

  ‘It’s a possibility.’

  Chambers gestured to Procter: ‘I want to know everything there is to know about Miss Swanson, alias or not.’

  Procter nodded.

  ‘In light of this Swanson development,’ Alvarez said, ‘I think we should check past and present CIA employees.’

  Chambers’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Something’s been bugging me for a while now,’ Alvarez began. ‘We assumed that another prospective buyer for the missiles or the Russians had Ozols killed. But we can’t dismiss that it’s someone within our own walls.’

  ‘I’ve already had words with the director to make sure it wasn’t us who put the contract out on Ozols,’ Chambers said.

  ‘I’d dig anyway. Someone might be operating off the books. Before, there was no reason to suggest this was the case.’

  ‘And what is there now to suggest otherwise?’ Procter asked.

  ‘A hunch.’

  ‘A hunch?’

  ‘My hunch, to be more specific. Sebastian Hoyt is dead.’

  Chambers leaned forward. ‘Say again.’

  ‘Hoyt, in case anyone has forgotten, paid the American hitman, Stevenson, that briefcase full of cash to kill Ozols’s killer. He died of a heart attack on Sunday night while he lay in the bath. According to the autopsy, there are no signs that his death was anything other than natural, but it’s a hell of a convenient coincidence for whomever Hoyt was working for.’

  Procter couldn’t disagree. ‘I’ll say.’

  ‘Chances are Hoyt was murdered simply as a precaution, but the timing of it, just after we found out his role in all this, makes me suspicious.’

  Ferguson shook his head. ‘Hardly enough reason to think we have a mole.’

  ‘I’m not saying we have a mole — maybe a leak, maybe a rogue operation running under our noses.’

  ‘Okay,’ Chambers said. ‘There’s no harm in trying to find out if this Swanson is or was affiliated with us. I’ll authorize full access to our personnel records, asset lists, and so on.’

  ‘And may I suggest that any information found goes no further than the people in this room.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Sykes tried not to shift in his seat.

  CHAPTER 55

  London, United Kingdom

  Tuesday

  16:46 CET

  It was getting dark outside when Elliot Seif and his bodyguards reached the parking garage beneath the building. His spot was in an area reserved for the building’s elite, and there were only a scattering of cars under the hard white glare of the fluorescent lights.

  Seif would be arriving home late tonight. Work rarely kept him beyond his scheduled hours, but his latest mistress — the very young and very nubile Isabella — often ensured he missed dinner with his wife. After years of serial adultery, he was as discreet as ever, but although Seif could lie and mislead with the best of them in the boardroom, he was utterly unconvincing when lying to his wife. He knew it; she knew it; but they both pretended otherwise.

  The smell of exhaust fumes hung in the air. There had been some ventilation problems earlier in the week, and it still wasn’t quite fixed. Seif had complained on several occasions. It screwed with his asthma, and he needed every ounce of stamina his aging body could muster
to keep up with Isabella’s youthful insatiability.

  He knew she was only his for the endless stream of expensive gifts he lavished on her, but Seif didn’t care. He was well aware he had no charm to go with his frail body and wrinkled face, but a certain breed of woman found his wallet irresistibly erotic. Money, he had long ago discovered, was the world’s number one aphrodisiac. He considered it perfectly fair that Isabella desired him only for his money as he wanted her purely for her tight young body. Above all else, Seif was a deal maker, and he considered theirs to be a very good arrangement.

  The echoes of heavy footsteps interrupted the silence as the bodyguards stepped out of the elevator. They took the most direct route across the expanse of concrete, one bodyguard walking in front of Seif and to the right, the other behind and to the left. Under normal circumstances they could get Seif from the elevator to the car in under forty-five seconds. Seif never walked fast.

  His bodyguards were alert. The underground garage was a dangerous space, but they knew it well. Their gaze constantly shifted between potential places of concealment where someone might be hiding. Just because they’d done the same thing a thousand times and more without incident didn’t mean they ever got complacent.

  Any face or vehicle they didn’t recognize in the area was watched closely. More than once Seif had found himself apologizing on his bodyguards’ behalf after they’d been rough with someone who’d made a seemingly threatening action. It may have been a ballpoint that time, one of the bodyguards had told Seif, but next time it might be a gun. Did he really want to wait to be sure? Better to apologize for a mistake than to die for one. Seif had readily agreed.

  They were there for show more than anything else. Seif dealt with plenty of less-than-reputable individuals, some of whom were uncouth enough to try to intimidate their way into a better deal, or at least they would do so if Seif didn’t have two mean motherfuckers in his corner. And if one day any of the Euromafia scumbags realized he was stealing their money, to get to Seif they’d have to get through five hundred pounds of pure badass first.

  Neither of his bodyguards liked the location. It was designed to be as pleasant a space as possible with no mind to security. As such, it was full of blind spots that had to be watched with care. Still, it was far safer than an exterior parking area. In here they could protect their client.

  At least that’s what they believed.

  The silver Merc SUV was parked at the far end of the garage in the most secure location. It had been reverse parked so that Seif, who rode in the back, had the bodyguards in front of him and the wall behind him when they were most vulnerable, as well as for a quick exit. In addition, the car was armoured and all windows fitted with bulletproof glass by a specialist firm in Germany.

  Seif gripped his mobile phone to his ear and gulped as he listened to Isabella describe in lurid detail exactly what she was going to do to him when he finally arrived at her apartment. The volume on the phone was turned high to compensate for Seif’s poor hearing, and his bodyguards listened to every explicit word and groan Isabella uttered. They never let on that they could, except to each other.

  The first bodyguard unlocked the car with an electronic key fob while Seif waited with the second bodyguard a few yards away. Alongside the driver’s door, the first bodyguard peered through the windows before lowering himself into a push-up position to check underneath the SUV for explosive devices. The bodyguard had done it hundreds of times. It was boring, a pain in the ass. And a waste of time.

  Suppressed gunshots echoed in the close confines of the parking garage.

  The bodyguard collapsed onto his stomach, screaming.

  There was a second of stillness before the other bodyguard went for his gun, struggling to pull it out from under his jacket. It was tight against his chest to better show off his muscles.

  He yelled at Seif, ‘GET DOWN, GET DOWN.’

  The bodyguard dropped to one knee, unsure where the shot had come from. His first instinct was to look behind them for the shooter.

  Seif just stood there, open mouthed, unable to react, staring at his injured bodyguard. He was lying on the concrete, face down, right arm and leg thrashing around but his left limbs, those alongside the Merc, were bizarrely still. Seif realized the man had been shot in both his left arm and leg. He was too big, too heavy, and in too much pain to right himself. He tried to get his one good hand beneath his jacket, to his gun, but his arm was too bulky to squeeze beneath his chest. He was trying to speak, but he couldn’t get his words out among his cries. Glistening blood crept along the ground.

  The second bodyguard kept a tight hold on his own gun. He looked around frantically, eyes searching their surroundings, checking the likely points from which someone could have taken a shot. Aside from cars the place was empty. He could see no sign of any attackers. Where the hell were they?

  He gestured to Seif. ‘Get back to the elevator. I’ll-’

  He cried out, bullets catching him in the knee, thigh, and ankle, rounds shattering bone and sending explosions of blood across the concrete. He fell backwards, all thoughts of the. 45 forgotten as he clutched at the bloody mess of his legs.

  Seif hadn’t moved. He looked on with horror at the two guys writhing around on the ground. He heard a noise, saw a man in a suit slide out from underneath the Merc and come to his feet. He was wearing a black ski mask. He had a gun. With a silencer.

  Seif still had the mobile phone clutched to his ear, the incessant sexual drone of his mistress not missing a beat. His gaze was locked on the masked gunman. He couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t even think. He’d hired bodyguards so they could protect him from a day like this, but he’d never seriously entertained the notion that anything this bad might actually happen.

  The gunman walked past the face-down bodyguard, who had given up trying to get his weapon, and now lay still and quiet, tilting up his head as much as he could to watch what was happening. The other bodyguard stayed where he was, on his back, face screwed up with pain. Blood soaked his trousers. He was trying to hold his splintered knee together with his left hand while his right stretched across the ground for his pistol.

  Victor walked slowly toward Seif, angling his gun for a second at the guy reaching for his. 45.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Victor said.

  The bodyguard pulled his hand back, and Victor kicked the gun away as he passed. He stopped directly in front of Seif, holding the handgun at arm’s length, the end of the suppressor no more than an inch from the terrified accountant’s face.

  Victor’s request was straightforward. ‘Computer.’

  His eyes unblinking, Seif didn’t hesitate and raised his left arm up towards Victor. His right still held the cell phone to his ear. Victor took the computer from him.

  ‘Password?’

  ‘Isabella.’

  Seif was sweating. Somehow he managed to speak. ‘Is that all you want?’

  On the other end of the phone his mistress thought he was speaking to her. She groaned louder. His eyes never leaving Seif’s for an instant, Victor took the laptop from him with his free hand. He saw no harm in replying.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Seif gasped, trembled, misunderstanding. The phone fell from his fingers. ‘Don’t hurt my family.’

  Victor didn’t hesitate. ‘I wouldn’t.’

  He gave Seif a moment to process the remark, stepped back, lowered the gun, and turned around, watching Seif’s and the bodyguard’s reflections at all times on the Merc’s bodywork. No one tried anything. Groans emanated from Seif’s cell. Victor took another step, stopped, turned back, and shot the phone. It exploded into a thousand pieces.

  He considered shutting up Seif’s mistress for the price of a bullet to be money well spent.

  CHAPTER 56

  Amsterdam, The Netherlands

  Wednesday

  21:37 CET

  The hotel was popular with British tourists and run by a mostly British staff. There was a stag p
arty occupying several rooms on the same floor, whose members weren’t inclined to respect the peace and quiet of other guests. This suited Victor perfectly. The more attention focused elsewhere, the less directed at the broker and him.

  The city had been Victor’s first choice when leaving the UK. Numerous flights and ferries transported countless Brits across the North Sea every day of the year. It was easy to slip out of the country among the crowd. Before going to the airport they had emptied Seif’s laptop case. It contained his computer and its peripherals, several newspapers, and a film entitled Naughty Schoolgirls Must Be Punished.

  ‘I’ve seen that one,’ the broker said. ‘It’s crap.’

  Victor did his best to keep his lips straight.

  ‘I knew it,’ the broker said.

  ‘Knew what?’

  ‘That you could smile.’

  ‘Don’t get used to it.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  Her eyes were mischievous. He liked that.

  They’d both slept during the day, and now he stood guard while the broker worked on Seif’s computer. There were thousands of files on the hard drive, the complete financial records of dozens of companies, a huge amount of information. It was an electronic maze.

  ‘We’re looking for money,’ the broker had explained. ‘The transfer of money. The money to pay us came to Seif from one of these companies.’ She pointed at the huge list on screen. ‘One of those will have records that coincide with your previous contracts. You were always paid the same way, half before, half afterward.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘So we’re looking for pairs of payments.’

  ‘It’ll take hours going through all those files.’

  ‘Yes, it will,’ she agreed. ‘Do you want to do it for me?’

  Victor shook his head. ‘I’ll leave it in your capable hands.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He stood to one side of the window, peering into the night through the slim gap between curtain and wall. He could see the small parking lot, its entrance, and he watched those cars that arrived and the people who climbed out. They were couples mostly, no one he deemed a danger. He didn’t have a weapon, and it played on his mind. If anyone came for them he had only his hands to defend himself.