The Game

by Tom Wood

  ‘Plausible. But he gave you the choice of where to meet. You could have picked anywhere in the world. Anywhere can take a long time to get to and back from.’

  ‘He didn’t give me a free choice. He was trying to use suggestion to influence me. He asked me to pick somewhere, but suggested somewhere hot. Where’s guaranteed to be hot at this time of year in Europe?’

  ‘You didn’t have to select Europe. You could have gone to a hundred different places.’

  ‘I could have, yes. But before he asked me where I wanted to meet, he justified the phone call by saying he wouldn’t have expected me to agree to another faraway meeting. Like I said, suggestion. Besides, going halfway across the world isn’t something Kooi or anyone else would choose to do without a good reason. It would make no sense to choose somewhere like Peru just for the sake of it. If I had, Leeson would have politely suggested somewhere closer to home. He wanted me to think I had a choice. As he said, to assure me of his intentions, but in reality he was trying to manipulate me into going somewhere that suited him. I played along, but I knew what he was doing.’

  ‘Even so, you could have chosen Greece, Italy, Morocco… There are plenty of hot places that aren’t a world away.’

  ‘And what do all those countries have in common?’

  It took her three seconds to work it out. He would have preferred her to do so in two or less. ‘The Mediterranean.’

  Victor nodded. ‘Leeson suggested somewhere hot because he wanted me to pick a country that bordered the Med.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because when I meet him, we’re going on a little trip.’

  ‘To where?’

  ‘I don’t know, but somewhere that can be reached by boat. Could be France, Italy, Egypt, Cyprus. Maybe even up to the Black Sea.’

  Muir nodded too. ‘Easier to slip into a country unnoticed that way.’

  ‘Which is why you’re having such a hard time tracking Leeson. He doesn’t use planes. He either takes a boat, or uses that huge car of his. He can get from one end of Europe to the other and never have to show his passport or have his name in a computer.’

  ‘Just what the hell is this guy up to?’

  ‘That’s what you want me to find out.’

  ‘I know this is probably a redundant question, but how do you know he’ll set the meeting soon?’

  ‘I offered him a date next week, but he said he’d let me know when. The implication was that it was too soon for him, so he’ll think I’ll expect it to be later than the date I suggested. Therefore he’ll choose earlier, to catch me off guard. The less warning I have, the safer he’ll feel. Kooi’s account will get another email, either tomorrow or the next day, and I want to be in the city well before he wants me there.’

  ‘He really doesn’t trust you, does he?’

  ‘He’s right not to. But this is just how he operates. This isn’t purely because of me. He doesn’t trust anyone.’

  ‘I don’t know why anybody would choose to live like that. Surely there are easier ways to make a little money.’

  ‘Not everyone has a choice.’

  Her eyebrows appeared above the rim of her glasses. ‘Don’t give me that BS. Everyone has a choice. Everyone has free will.’

  ‘It’s comforting to believe that, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very.’ She smiled a little. ‘You’re going to need to wear a tracker. If he’s going to take you from Gibraltar to who knows where then we have to keep you in our sights.’

  ‘Not an option. I’ll be searched.’

  ‘Trust me, we can hide it. You wouldn’t believe how small these things are these days. They won’t find it.’

  ‘I said it’s not an option.’

  ‘Then you can’t go through with it. He could take you anywhere. We still don’t know that this isn’t some kind of elaborate trap. Maybe Kooi killed Leeson’s wife. Maybe this is revenge.’

  ‘I told you, he could have killed me in Budapest. He didn’t. He needs me. The only danger is that he finds out I’m not Kooi.’

  Muir took a breath. She considered. ‘Okay, we’ll do it your way, as agreed. But you’ll have to find a way of getting hold of me as soon as you know what the job is, or where you’re going. So as you can. Don’t wait for us to meet in person. Call, text, email, whatever. Okay?’

  Victor shook his head. ‘That might not be as simple as you think. He’s not coming to Gibraltar to discuss the job with me. There won’t be any more tests. There won’t be any more discussion. Phase one is over. We’re moving into phase two. Planning.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Gibraltar

  Victor had arrived the day after leaving Muir in London. He had flown in from Berlin, having departed London for Zurich and taken the train north across the border. He had a room in a small guesthouse on the outskirts of the town which he had booked for four nights but where he didn’t expect to stay even three. He’d paid in advance so he could leave at any time without creating a problem.

  For two days he explored the town, playing the role of a tourist, acting not dissimilarly to Kooi a month before. Victor paid more attention to counter-surveillance than the Dutchman had, however, but witnessed nothing to make him consider he was the object of anyone’s attention.

  On the morning of his third day in Gibraltar, Muir contacted him to say that Kooi had received an email from Leeson, requesting a meeting the following day. The timetable was longer than Victor had expected and though not unduly concerned by being proved wrong in this instance, it was the kind of gap in his understanding that could prove fatal at a later date.

  The weather was hot and dry. The streets were busy with tourists and locals. Victor wore loose trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, sleeves rolled up to mid forearm. Doing so would have been impossible the previous year when the twin scars on his outer and inner left forearm had yet to blend in with the surrounding skin. They were needle thin, thanks to a cosmetic surgeon in Quebec who had been far more accommodating in handing over Victor’s medical records than Schule had in Vienna.

  He had arranged to meet Leeson on the seafront, near a harbour full of yachts and pleasure boats, all gleaming white on the azure water. Wind from the sea pushed back Victor’s hair and flattened his shirt against his torso. Sunglasses kept him from squinting and let his eyes scan the area without the risk of his watchfulness being noted.

  There was a low but wide wall separating the promenade from the harbour. Victor had told Leeson to meet him nearby at noon. It was a little beforehand. Normally, Victor would have preferred to arrive at least an hour before to scout out the area, but if Leeson wasn’t alone and had people around, Victor didn’t want to take the risk that he would be noticed, for the same reason he gave Muir a false impression of his behaviour and skills. He didn’t want Leeson to understand how he worked. He didn’t want Leeson to know how careful he was. He didn’t want Leeson to understand how little Victor trusted him. He wanted Leeson to underestimate him.

  He walked with a large tour group led by a couple of loud local guides who wore louder shirts and delivered their facts and anecdotes with practised enthusiasm. The tour group was from a Mediterranean cruise ship and happily returned Victor’s small talk.

  ‘My wife couldn’t make it to shore,’ he explained to a personable couple from Scotland.

  ‘The prawns?’ the husband suggested.

  ‘Too much sangria,’ Victor said with a raised eyebrow.

  Not conducting a proper recon of the locale increased the risks, but it was a poor spot for an ambush, which was why Victor had selected it. The promenade was full of slow-moving pedestrians, few wearing enough clothing to conceal weapons. The street itself was narrow, with tall buildings on one side and the sea on the other. Numerous cramped alleyways and side streets led off into the town. Vendors offered their wares to the continuous flowing mass of tourists. If Leeson had backup it would be a significant challenge for them to spot Victor walking alone. As part of a tour group, it would be almost impossible.


  Victor said his goodbyes to the Scottish couple, claiming he wanted to pick up a present for his wife and promising to join them for a drink that night in one of the cruise ship’s many bars.

  ‘We can’t wait to meet her,’ the Scottish woman said in a thick Aberdeen accent. ‘She sounds like a lovely wee girl.’

  When the tour group had wandered away and the Scottish were out of sight, Victor veered over to the agreed meeting point, where a woman sat on the low wall, one long smooth leg crossed over the other. She wore a figure-hugging white dress that stopped mid thigh. The skin of her bare legs and arms was pale and showed no signs of tanning. She wore a hat with a huge brim that shadowed her face and almost her entire body. The wind tossed her wavy black hair back and forth across her face.

  ‘Where’s Leeson?’ Victor asked when he was within speaking distance.

  The woman turned to look his way and tipped her head back so the brim of her hat didn’t block her view. She stood when she had identified him. The dress showed as much flesh as it covered and accentuated her figure.

  ‘Surprised to see me, Felix?’ she asked, a smile playing beneath the shadow of her hat. Her eyes were invisible behind black sunglasses. Mauve lips glistened in the sun.

  ‘I’m surprised the marks on your neck have faded so soon.’

  The hat hid her frown but Victor knew it was there. ‘Yes, well,’ she began, ‘it’s amazing what a bit of time and a little makeup can do for a girl.’

  ‘I’m glad to see there’s no lasting damage.’

  ‘Is that your way of apologising? Because I didn’t hear a sorry.’

  ‘I gave you the Makarov back, didn’t I?’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on using it. I know you know that.’

  ‘Nevertheless, carrying a gun isn’t the best way to make friends.’

  She laughed briefly. ‘Says the man who strangled me. Fortunately for you I try not to judge men on first impressions. I’ll put it down to nerves.’

  ‘So what do I call you?’

  ‘Francesca, of course. That is my genuine name. I’m not exactly one for hiding who I really am.’

  Victor raised an eyebrow. ‘Your dress makes that very clear.’

  She grinned.

  ‘Where’s Leeson?’

  She pretended to take offence. ‘Don’t tell me you’d have preferred he had met you instead.’

  ‘I’d have preferred to never see you again, Francesca. I had hoped you’d have taken my advice and reconsidered your chosen career path.’

  ‘Still playing that record, are you?’ A smile failed to hide her irritation.

  He ignored it. ‘This is not the kind of life you want for yourself.’

  ‘And who made you the expert on what kind of life I want?’

  ‘No one would want this if they had a choice.’

  ‘Who says I have a choice?’

  ‘You’re responding with questions because you’re defensive. You’re defensive because you’ve chosen this life for yourself and I’m challenging you about that choice.’

  She exhaled and briefly looked away. ‘You’re really quite arrogant, aren’t you?’

  ‘Am I wrong?’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘A woman of your age has had a life before this one—’

  Francesca shook her head as she interrupted. ‘Arrogant and so full of compliments…’

  ‘A woman of your age has had a life before this one,’ Victor repeated. ‘And a woman of your attractiveness doesn’t need it. You’re—’

  ‘Don’t think you can reverse my opinion of you so quickly. I’m not that easy to manipulate, Felix.’

  ‘You’re cultured and intelligent—’

  ‘Hmm, better. More please.’

  ‘You have other options available to you,’ Victor said. ‘It’s not too late to walk away.’

  ‘You see, I knew there was a sliver of a gentleman behind that icy front of yours.’

  ‘You’re playing the most dangerous game there is, Francesca. It’s not too late to walk away, but at some point it will be.’

  She laughed. ‘You’re really quite sweet, aren’t you?’

  ‘Where’s Leeson?’ he asked again.

  Francesca smiled once more and remained silent, enjoying her power. ‘Let’s grab a drink, shall we? I’ll pay, and you can pay me back with some more compliments.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘Don’t be a spoilsport. I fancy a cocktail: something tall and opaque.’

  ‘Where?’

  She made an exaggerated sigh and pointed without looking in the direction of the harbour.

  ‘He’s on a boat?’ Victor asked.

  ‘No, silly boy.’ She turned and pointed, this time past the harbour, out to sea, out across the Mediterranean. ‘He’s that way.’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Andorra la Vella, Andorra

  The restaurant was a chaotic place to work but Lucille Defraine enjoyed that chaos. She had been a sous chef there for three years; no longer terrified of the giant Turkish chef who ran the kitchen, she now found his explosive outbursts bordering on the hilarious. All the junior kitchen and waiting staff cowered before him and Lucille remembered what it had been like to be frightened of coming to work. It was a stressful environment where the chef demanded perfection and the staff either learned to cope with the verbal assaults or quit. When they did, the chef put another red X on his scoreboard.

  ‘You’ll be on there one day,’ he’d promised her during her first week.

  She went about her job with a quiet efficiency that kept her off his radar for the most part, but if she let the risotto stick or a length of asparagus bend in the middle he would unload abuse on her that was a mix of French and Turkish. She had spoken French and German fluently since her childhood, and now could claim to be tri-lingual – but her Turkish was limited to expletives and insults, though she did know dozens of them.

  One of the juniors dropped a pan and boiling water flooded across the floor. Green parcels of ravioli slid along on the flow.

  The Turkish chef launched a tirade of insults at the junior, who scalded his fingers picking up the ravioli. Lucille tried not to smile, but failed.

  This did not escape the attention of the chef, who turned his abuse her way.

  Lucille laughed. She couldn’t help herself. The chef’s face went so red she thought he was going to burst.

  She pointed at the scoreboard and said, ‘You’ll have to do better than that.’

  Her shift ended at midnight and she walked home stifling yawns and looking forward to kissing Peter’s forehead as he slept soundly in his bed. The night was cool and the stars above bright and beautiful. She lit a cigarette and tried not to hear Peter’s voice in her head, regurgitating what he’d learnt at school about the dangers of smoking. She promised herself she would quit before he was old enough to be influenced by her behaviour, as she had been by her parents who smoked strong French cigarettes every day from breakfast until bed. Neither had made it past sixty-five.

  The babysitter was prostrate on the couch, eyes shut, mouth open, a light snoring rumbling in the air, but she snapped upright when Lucille flicked on the light. ‘I wasn’t asleep,’ she was quick to say.

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  The sitter smiled and yawned. ‘He’s been a good boy. We watched a show about Romans. Did you know that they—’

  ‘That’s great. What time are you getting picked up?’

  The sitter shrugged. ‘I’m not. Marcel’s car won’t start so I’ve got to take the bus. I hate the bus.’

  Lucille frowned as she handed the sitter her fee and said, ‘It’s far too late for you to be standing alone outside. I’ll just go and check on him then I’ll walk you to the bus stop, okay?’

  The stop was at the end of the street. A one-minute walk there. A one-minute walk back. Hopefully no more than three minutes to wait. Peter would be alone for five minutes. Lucille didn’t like it, but she didn’t have the heart to l
et a seventeen-year-old girl go by herself. The town was very safe, but most crime was opportunism. She would never forgive herself if something happened.

  There were a group of three young men at the stop. They had the buzz cuts of soldiers and the builds to match. It was not uncommon to see soldiers here. There was a French military base to the north and its young male residents would often come south to blow off steam in Andorra. They looked harmless enough beyond being drunk, but Lucille was glad the babysitter wasn’t alone. She felt the three soldiers watching her and the sitter, but men were never subtle, especially young men, and least of all young men who had been drinking.