by Tom Wood
Outside, Amsterdam was alive. The narrow streets were full of people, drinking and smoking and having a good time. There were cafes licensed to sell marijuana nearby, and with the window open Victor could smell the drug in the air. It made him remember long nights out on manoeuvres.
‘Why don’t you try and relax,’ the broker said from behind him. ‘You freak me out just standing there.’
‘I can’t relax.’
‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘You can’t really believe anyone’s going to come for us here.’
He didn’t turn around. ‘I spend every day expecting to be killed,’ he stated. ‘Because the day I don’t, will be the day I am.’
She exhaled loudly. ‘Then you might want to rethink what you do for a living.’
‘What I do for a living is keeping you alive.’
She went back to her work.
This part of the city, away from the infamous red-light district, was beautiful, even in the winter. The canals and quaint architecture made the city seem cosy and welcoming. Victor had visited a few times before, always passing through, never staying. He decided when this was all over he would make a point of coming back.
The clicking of the laptop keys had been a constant background noise for the last two hours. The stag party had finally moved out into the city, and Victor found the quiet rhythmic clicking of keys soothing somehow, the sound relaxing, making his eyelids heavy.
Occasionally, in his peripheral vision, he saw the broker look up from her work at him, but not with the watchfulness she had once shown. The broker talked a lot more, even though he responded infrequently. Now, when she looked his way the fear was gone, even if the wariness wasn’t fully. She was less concerned with what he might do, more comfortable in his presence now. Victor wished he could say the same thing about her.
If it came to it, Victor told himself, he would kill her as painlessly as possible. She’d done enough to warrant that at the least.
He noticed the people in the crowd on the street below seemed to blend into one another, colours evening out. The sound of the broker typing became quieter. He realized his head had drooped forward, and he snapped it back in line with his spine.
‘I need some air.’
Victor headed for the door.
‘Okay,’ the broker said, looking up. ‘I’ll be near. Call the cell if anything makes you suspicious.’
He made a point of not looking back.
Outside the hotel the street was noisy and full of people. He watched for surveillance while he took a brief walk, never veering more than a short sprint back. He wanted to stay out longer, to be on his own, but he couldn’t leave the broker by herself for too long for both their safety. On the way back to the hotel he called her to check in and stopped in the hotel bar for a bottle of beer.
Having a partner, if she could be called that, was not something he would get accustomed to any time soon. He’d worked alone for so long he felt strangled operating so closely with someone else. She wasn’t used to this either; her field skills were basic at best. He had to use one eye to watch her back, leaving only one to watch his own. The fact that she was a woman, an attractive woman, didn’t help either. She was the kind of distraction he wasn’t used to having.
He finished his beer and left the hotel bar, sidestepping to avoid a trio of cocktail-fuelled young women having a good time. They jeered at him as he passed, one offering herself in a less-than-sophisticated manner. He found it amusing and simply raised an eyebrow at her. They burst out laughing.
When Victor entered the hotel lobby he noticed the clock and realized he’d been gone far longer than he’d planned. He took the stairs to the second floor and approached their room. They each had an electronic key and had agreed that they would knock once and pause before entering. He did so and opened the door. She looked up from her work at him and they made eye contact. She half smiled at him. It made Victor feel uncomfortable.
‘How long is this going to take?’
She didn’t like his blunt tone. ‘I don’t ask you to explain your methods,’ she said. ‘Please extend me the same courtesy.’
Victor headed toward the bathroom. ‘I see you’re developing a backbone.’
She was just as sharp. ‘And I see you’re developing a sense of humour.’
Victor had briefly smiled then, despite himself, knowing she couldn’t see it with his back to her, but he was quick to remind himself that she was just a tool. Nothing more. Just an aid to his own survival. No different from a gun. Useful, but to be discarded as soon as its usefulness was spent. Nothing good would come of his thinking about her in any other way.
He walked into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He heard the broker’s voice from the other room.
‘You were gone a long time,’ she said.
He stared at his reflection. ‘I had a beer.’
‘You’re joking,’ was her response.
Victor dried his face with a towel. ‘I don’t joke.’
‘I didn’t think you guys drank alcohol.’
‘You watch too many movies.’
She said something else, but he was already closing the bathroom door and running a bath. He bathed quickly, re-entering the bedroom dried and dressed.
He found the broker was leaning back in the chair, arms folded behind her head. She was smiling casually. It suited her.
‘I’ve found it,’ she announced without fanfare. ‘The money was paid to Seif by an outfit called Olympus Trading.’
‘Go on.’
‘Olympus has made some noteworthy transfers to Seif recently. The latest one was a week before you killed Ozols.’
‘And the others?’ Victor asked, seeing where she was going with this.
‘A month before Ozols, what job did you do?’
‘An arms dealer, in Sweden.’
‘Two payments were made to Seif at that time, one about a week before he was killed, and a second identical amount a week after. Do I need to go on?’
Victor shook his head.
The broker continued, ‘Whatever Olympus Trading is, it also doubles as the front company for whatever part of the CIA we’re dealing with.’
‘A slush fund.’
‘Exactly. To pay for black ops.’
‘Maybe it only exists on paper.’
‘Looks genuine to me. And a real, functioning company is far better for washing money than a paper one.’
Victor felt his body relax, happy, relieved, knowing they were one step closer to ending this thing. He showed no outward signs of this.
‘We’ll leave tomorrow,’ he said. ‘What’s the destination?’
‘Put it like this,’ the broker said with a grin. ‘You’ll look good with a tan.’
CHAPTER 57
Washington, DC, USA
Wednesday
19:40 EST
Most people Ferguson knew of his own age were starting to really feel it, but Ferguson felt as fit and healthy now in his sixties as he did in his forties. He may have lost some weight with the passing years, but his body showed no signs of packing in on him anytime soon. He planned to enjoy a long and relaxing retirement, and, with a bit of luck, a very wealthy one. He pictured himself lazing on a beach in the Seychelles with nothing more troublesome to worry about than his tan lines.
Of course, all that hinged on the thorny problem of cleaning up a rogue operation gone wrong. Ferguson had yet to be panicked by the events of the last week and a bit. He had faced both metaphorical and real bullets in his lifetime, and he saw this as just another awkward knot to slip out of. He was still two steps ahead of being found out. And he planned to remain so.
It was a short walk from his car to the memorial. He’d seen it up close a hundred times or more, but still it never failed to impress him. The huge Greek-style building that housed Lincoln’s statue was brightly illuminated, and though it was almost eight at night, there were still dozens of people on the steps leading up to it.
Ferguson began asc
ending the steps, looking for Sykes. He couldn’t see him, but he supposed that was testament to the precautions they were both taking. Finally, more out of breath than he would have expected, Ferguson reached the top of the steps. Still no Sykes. Ferguson checked his watch. He would give him five minutes maximum, then call his cell phone.
He saw him after no more than three minutes. The man looked downright scared. It was increasingly clear to Ferguson that he had judged Sykes’s mettle incorrectly. He had a sharp mind and a deft shrewdness for intelligence work, but he wasn’t cut out to be involved in an operation where tangible risk was involved.
‘Pleasant night,’ Ferguson said when Sykes reached him.
The younger man was taller, bigger built, and had on a thicker coat, but he looked far less comfortable in the cold evening. ‘Is it?’
Ferguson began walking, Sykes automatically following at his side. ‘We have a situation you need to be aware of, Mr Sykes.’
Sykes rubbed his hands together. ‘What situation?’
‘Elliot Seif was killed earlier today.’
‘So? That’s a good thing, right? Oh shit, did Reed screw up?’
‘No, of course he didn’t. The police believe Seif shot his wife and then turned the gun on himself. A domestic dispute gone wrong.’
It took a few moments before Sykes spoke again. ‘Then what?’
‘The day before Seif was killed, he was robbed.’
‘Robbed?’
Ferguson nodded. ‘Someone shot and wounded his bodyguards and took Seif’s computer.’
Sykes processed the information. ‘Tesseract?’
‘I would think that a fair assumption.’
‘What the fuck happened?’
Ferguson walked at a slow pace. His small eyes moved from side to side, checking for anyone who looked out of place before he spoke.
‘From what is in the police report it appears that someone got to Seif in the parking garage underneath his building. The robber wore a mask. No other witnesses, security cameras had been disabled, both bodyguards didn’t so much as get a shot off. And Seif reported his computer had been taken. Nothing else, no wallet or watch, just his computer.’ Sykes didn’t say anything. Ferguson stopped and faced him. ‘What information would Seif have on him?’
Sykes looked confused; he struggled to speak for a second or two. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘Tesseract didn’t rob him to pass the time, and he didn’t take his laptop as a souvenir. He took it for a reason. What can they do with it?’
Sykes shook his head. ‘I don’t understand, why did he go after Seif at all? You said they would contact us to try and return the drive. You said they’d try and deal.’
‘Well,’ Ferguson began, ‘that’s evidently not what they’re doing.’
‘Then what the hell are they doing? I don’t get it. None of this makes any sense.’
Ferguson sighed. ‘Use your head, Mr Sykes. Isn’t it obvious?’
‘What? What’s obvious?’
‘They’re coming after us.’
Sykes’s mouth dropped open. ‘What?’
‘If they’d wanted to try and exchange the drive for their lives, they would have done so by now. They haven’t.’
‘But that doesn’t mean-’
‘Tesseract couldn’t have found out about Seif without Sumner’s help,’ Ferguson interrupted. ‘And the only logical reason for them collectively going after Seif would be if they thought they could get information, something they could use to get to us, something from his computer. So, I’m asking you again, what could that something be?’
Sykes wasn’t thinking, he was reacting, panicking. ‘Oh fuck.’
‘Kindly calm yourself.’
‘Just how am I supposed to remain calm when I’ve just found out I’m at the top of an assassin’s hit list? I don’t want that sociopath after me. Have you forgotten he’s killed a dozen people in the last week alone, and that’s only the ones we know about. I don’t want to be lucky number fucking thirteen.’
Sykes continuously looked around as if he expected Tesseract to be hiding in the shadows. It was embarrassing to Ferguson that he’d ever thought Sykes could handle this kind of operation. Quite simply, Ferguson had known eunuchs with more balls.
He went to speak, but a couple, arm in arm, walked close by. He led Sykes farther away until they were out of earshot.
‘They must have worked out some way to track us down; that’s why they took Seif’s computer. Think, why would they do that?’
‘Seif’s just an accountant. He handled the transactions to the accounts Tesseract used. He doesn’t know anything.’
‘There must be something,’ Ferguson prompted.
It took him a few seconds before Sykes muttered, ‘Ah.’
‘What?’
‘They’re trying to follow the money.’
‘Explain,’ Ferguson demanded.
‘That’s the only trail there is,’ Sykes explained. He was talking quickly. ‘From one account to the next. Seif’ll have records of the transactions made. They could find out where the money came from.’
‘And where did the money come from?’
‘Olympus.’
The already-deep lines in Ferguson’s forehead deepened. ‘I’m assuming you don’t mean the home of Zeus.’
‘Olympus Trading,’ Sykes corrected. ‘It’s one of the front companies we use.’
‘And what is it?’
‘It’s an import-export outfit in Cyprus. It’s just a skeleton, a couple of employees, a building, some warehouse space. The money was washed through its books on the way to Seif.’
Ferguson absorbed the information for a few seconds. ‘What can they find out from it? Worst-case scenario.’
‘Worst-case scenario is they find nothing, I think.’
‘You think?’
‘I know.’ Sykes almost sounded sure. ‘There’s nothing there that can lead back to us. Just account after account. Olympus must have a hundred clients and customers. It would be impossible to get anything from its books.’
‘Are you positive of this?’
He nodded. ‘I set up Olympus myself. The paper trail will take them to the moon and back before it leads to us.’
‘Good. Then we have nothing to worry about.’
Sykes looked far from convinced. ‘Unless they’ve worked out some way to do it that we haven’t thought of.’
Ferguson offered no further reassurance. He began to walk away when Sykes called after him. Ferguson turned around. ‘What is it?’
Sykes caught up with him. ‘Olympus is a dead end, but they don’t know it is, do they?’
‘I’m not sure I follow you.’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
Ferguson had said the same thing to Sykes earlier, and Ferguson noted Sykes’s smug tone. He liked having the knowledge, the power.
‘No,’ Ferguson said. ‘It’s not.’
‘My point,’ Sykes explained with more than a little cockiness, ‘is that if they went to Seif, they’ll go there, to Olympus.’
Ferguson nodded, understanding, impressed. ‘Very good, Mr Sykes. Very good indeed.’
CHAPTER 58
London, United Kingdom
Thursday
04:02 CET
Reed stood next to his hotel-room window, peering into the city through the crack between wall and curtain. In the sliver of glass he could see the reflection of bare skin, limbs splayed on the sheets. The girl had her face toward the door, away from him, the golden waves of her hair spread across the pillow. The diffused light smoothed away what little imperfections she carried. Except to roll over, she hadn’t moved since he had climbed out of bed. He could see in the window the rise and fall of her chest, intermittent, not regular. Awake.
He took a sip from his drink as he watched her. In silence they had played this game for some time, of her pretending to sleep and his pretending not to watch. Reed slowly flexed the muscles of his arms from shoulder to wris
t.
When she finally broke the silence, her voice was quiet. ‘Why are you watching me?’
Reed took another sip from his drink. ‘Why do you allow me to watch?’
She turned her head to look at him from over one slender shoulder. ‘Do you want to do me again?’
And she had displayed such elegance on arrival. Reed pivoted and leaned against the wall next to the window. It was cool against his naked back.
‘I shall respectfully decline.’
She laughed. ‘I just love the way you guys talk.’
Reed found it quite derisory that his acute Englishness impressed her. She claimed to be twenty-one, but was certainly younger. An Australian. He kept his contempt to himself and acknowledged her remark with a small nod. After finishing his London assignment Reed had remained in the city while he waited for the next update. The girl helped pass the time.
She reached for the remote and turned on the television.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’
Reed shook his head once. ‘Be my guest.’
She flicked through the channels with barely half a second’s pause on each. Her eyes were transfixed by the flashing images and constantly changing sound. He watched in quiet bewilderment of her simple pleasure.
There was a flash of blue in the dim light that immediately grabbed his attention. Reed walked to the source and took the smartphone from where he had left it on the sideboard. He opened the email. He read the message carefully, then a second time. He would go through the attached files as soon as he had left. He started picking up his clothes from the floor.
‘I have to leave,’ he said.
She pushed her small breasts together with her arms and pouted. ‘You sure?’
‘Alas, yes.’
To his surprise the girl looked genuinely disappointed. She sat up to better watch him dress. ‘Why?’
‘Work.’
‘But it’s late. Do you have to?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
She sighed. ‘You never told me what you do.’
