The Game

by Tom Wood

  ‘As you rightly said: that’s not how I do business.’

  ‘So you’re in?’

  ‘I’m in.’

  FORTY-NINE

  Mr Hart. That was the blond man’s name. Lucille had heard the young man in the suit call him that when he praised the blond man’s good work. She was scared. More scared than she had been during the long journey in the dark. Hart had kidnapped her and Peter for the man in the suit. But why? What did he want?

  ‘Who was that?’ Peter asked. He sat next to Lucille on the mattress while the van rocked and swayed. He spoke loudly to be heard above the rumble of the engine and exhaust.

  ‘I don’t know, honey.’

  ‘I want to go back in the cab.’

  ‘Maybe later.’

  ‘I’m bored in here.’

  She put her arm around him and pulled him close. ‘Me too.’

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  She fumbled in the darkness until she found the bag Hart had given her what seemed like an eternity ago. She had given up trying to keep track of the passing time. When she slept and woke, she didn’t know how long she had been asleep. She felt continuously exhausted.

  ‘Here you go,’ Lucille said, finding Peter’s hand and placing a bar of chocolate in it.

  ‘Ugh,’ he grunted. ‘I want some proper food.’

  ‘I’m sorry, honey, I don’t have any. We’ll eat some soon, I promise.’

  The van rocked and swayed and Lucille reminded herself to be strong for Peter’s sake. He was in denial, of course. Despite his age, he must know they were in some kind of trouble, that something bad was happening, but he buried it down deep inside him and pretended it wasn’t real. Lucille wished she could do the same, and maybe if she tried, she could convince herself that they were going to get out of this okay and she could find a brief moment free of terror and panic. But she needed that fear. She needed to be afraid each and every second because she had to be ready to try – to fight. For Peter.

  It seemed about an hour before the van stopped again but the engine stayed running. The padding on the walls, floor and ceiling muffled exterior sounds but Lucille felt as if their captor had left the vehicle for a moment and then climbed back inside. Twenty seconds later the van stopped once more and the vibrations from the engine ceased. The rear doors opened again and the man with blond hair and the wolf’s eyes, the man called Hart, stood before her.

  ‘We’re here,’ he said.

  ‘You’re letting us go?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘But you’re going to?’

  He said, ‘Of course,’ but his eyes said otherwise.

  She looked past him. They were outside some kind of industrial complex. She saw large buildings, crates, equipment, tanks and containers and a forklift truck. It seemed deserted. She recognised the Italian script on a safety sign.

  ‘We’re in Italy,’ she said out loud.

  Hart nodded.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Let us go. Please.’

  He held out his hand. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘Of course you don’t, but you will.’

  His expression didn’t change and his hand stayed outstretched, waiting for her to accept it. She knew she couldn’t refuse him. She bit her bottom lip to stop it trembling and touched his hand with hers. He gripped it and helped her out of the van. He turned away from her to beckon Peter and she fantasised about striking the back of Hart’s skull with a length of iron pipe and grabbing Peter and running. But there was no length of pipe for her to use, and if there had been, she had no strength to swing it.

  Hart lifted Peter up and placed him down on the ground next to Lucille, then ruffled his hair. Peter didn’t smile.

  ‘This way,’ Hart said.

  He gestured for her to walk to the smaller of the two buildings. The larger one was a modern factory unit, whereas the building she walked towards looked at least a century old. It had whitewashed walls and a sloping roof of red tiles. A set of arched double doors made of dark-stained wood formed the main entrance and Lucille approached them, heart thumping, imagining what might be on the other side of them.

  But Hart said, ‘Not through those,’ and led them to one end of the building. ‘In there.’

  She inhaled sharply. ‘No, please…’

  ‘Save your tears, Lucille.’ Hart wiped one from her cheek and sucked it from his thumb. ‘You’ll need each and every one for later.’

  FIFTY

  At a few minutes after 7 p.m. Victor heard the rumble of an approaching vehicle. He finished his stretching routine and looked out the window of the upstairs hallway to see the Toyota minivan ascending the hill. It disappeared out of his line of sight as it pulled up in front of the farmhouse. The panel van and its precious cargo had been left elsewhere. The dust kicked up from the Toyota’s tyres drifted into nothingness.

  He waited a while to give everyone time to assemble. He wanted to be on the periphery of the gathering, close to an exit, not surrounded by killers who might turn on him at any moment.

  Everyone looked at Victor as he entered the kitchen. He didn’t detect any reason behind it beyond the fact he was the last to arrive. Hart stood at the opposite end of the room to Victor, by the exterior door, which was open to keep the air moving. He’d cleaned up since Victor had last seen him and changed his clothes, but he looked as confident and dangerous as he had that afternoon. He greeted Victor with a hint of a nod and something in the pale blue-grey eyes that Victor couldn’t determine. He was still an unknown quantity, but Victor had the perfect way to test him. Dietrich was leaning with his elbows against the countertop. Victor couldn’t fail to read the hatred in his gaze. Jaeger was sitting at the table, waiting to eat. Leeson was taking foil cartons from brown paper bags and placing them on the table. Coughlin nodded at Victor. He sat with his arms folded. Francesca stood to Hart’s right. She looked stunning. She gave Victor a sad smile.

  ‘Who’s hungry?’ Leeson said.

  They ate in near silence. There were a few comments on the quality of the meal—meatballs in marinara sauce and spaghetti—but no sustained conversation. Victor wasn’t sure if that was because everyone’s thoughts were on what Leeson would say after dinner, or whether the atmosphere was the result of Hart’s presence. He sat next to Francesca, with Leeson perpendicular to his left at the head of the table. He didn’t look in concentration. He didn’t look tense. He was hungry. He wolfed down the contents of the foil packet, took another from the bag and began eating it just as fast.

  Jaeger ate with his gaze locked on his food and didn’t make eye contact with Victor once, which Victor took to mean he wasn’t ready to make his move or had changed his mind altogether. Or perhaps there was more to his inaction. Perhaps he didn’t look at Victor because he was hiding something. Perhaps he wouldn’t involve himself if Victor provoked Dietrich into an altercation. Perhaps it really was a setup, after all.

  This whole job is a setup.

  When everyone had eaten, Leeson had Coughlin tidy up and Francesca fetch a bottle of wine from the basement.

  Leeson removed a set of keys from a trouser pocket and slid them across the kitchen table. They stopped equidistant between Dietrich and Victor. ‘Would you be so kind as to take the Phantom from the barn?’

  Dietrich reached for them.

  ‘No,’ Leeson said. ‘I’d like Mr Kooi to do it. If he doesn’t mind.’

  ‘Sure,’ Victor said. He took the keys and stood.

  Jaeger looked at Victor. His eyes said: soon.

  Last night Leeson had asked Dietrich to put the limousine away after Victor had driven it back from Rome. Now Victor was taking it out. Yesterday morning Leeson had said that Victor wasn’t allowed in the barn. But now he had been given the keys to let himself inside. The padlock key was obvious on the ring and Victor used it to unlock the barn door. It shuddered and creaked as he pulled it open.

  The sun was low in the sky
. There was about another hour left of daylight. Inside, the barn was gloomy. Deep shadows surrounded the swathe of light that fed in through the open door. It reflected off the waxed bodywork of the Rolls-Royce limousine parked inside. It had been reversed into the barn and the front grille was now less than a metre from Victor’s knees.

  Either side of the vehicle, the barn was full of long-handled rakes for pulling olives from the branches during harvest and nets to catch them when they fell. Stacks of brown baskets rose to the ceiling; come harvest they would be filled with fruit and packed into vans to transport to the mill. Aluminium ladders lined one wall, to be used by the farmers to reach high into the olive trees to shake out the fruit with the rakes. Rolls of nets as tall as the ladders were next. They would be spread out around several trees at a time to ensure every olive shaken from above was collected. Dust and cobwebs nestled among the beams overhead.

  Victor circled the Phantom, the rear bumper of which lay about halfway down the barn’s length. The area behind was some kind of workshop. There was a sturdy workbench and metal shelving units and tools of all kinds.

  Whatever Jaeger had been working on had been finished or hidden or moved elsewhere.

  Victor smelled detergent. The workbench had been washed, as had the floor around it. The floor had been swept. An empty bucket and mop were nearby. The mop was damp on the back of Victor’s hand.

  He squatted down. The floor had been mopped as well as swept. He ran his fingers over the floor around the edges of each leg of the workbench. When he looked at his fingers he saw a gritty black substance on them that was hard and shiny. It was like the fine dust created when sawing metal, but Victor recognised it for what it was: ceramic.

  From behind Victor, Hart said, ‘What are you looking for, compadre?’

  ‘I’m satisfying your curiosity,’ Victor answered as he brushed the ceramic dust from his fingers on to his trousers. He turned to face Hart.

  Hart stood on one side of the Phantom. Victor hadn’t heard his approach. ‘Isn’t that what the cat said?’

  ‘I’ve got bigger claws than a cat.’

  Hart stepped a little closer. ‘I’ve no doubt you do.’ Then said, ‘Felix Kooi. The Dutchman,’ as if testing the feel of the words.

  ‘That’s me,’ Victor said, and immediately regretted it. Always better to stay quiet than say something that has no value. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’

  Hart shrugged. ‘Yes and no.’

  Victor remained silent. As far as he could see, Hart was unarmed. There were wrenches and hammers and pliers all within Victor’s reach. ‘Why don’t we start with yes?’

  ‘Sure,’ Hart said. ‘Let’s start with how you can help me.’ He stepped closer still, until he was in front of the Phantom’s rear bumper, equidistant between the brake lights, a sidestep either way from blocking Victor’s route past the car and his only way out. ‘What should I call you?’

  ‘Kooi. Or Felix, if you prefer.’

  Hart moved out of a patch of shadow and into a shaft of light cutting across the barn. His eyes shone. ‘I prefer Dutch.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You make it sound so nefarious, kid. Who says I have to want anything? I simply want to get to know the new guy. Bond a little.’

  ‘I’m not here to make friends.’

  ‘I’m surprised you have any with that attitude. Me, I’ve got lots of friends. All over the world. It’s good to be sociable. Give it a try. What’s wrong with swapping a few war stories?’

  ‘I’m not the nostalgic type.’

  Hart laughed. ‘Yeah, I can believe that about you, Dutch. Don’t suppose you’ll answer me if I ask about your background.’

  ‘I prefer to keep my focus on the present.’

  ‘Well, you’re still alive so I guess that’s working for you. From what I’d heard, I thought you’d be older.’

  ‘I’m older than I look.’

  Hart stepped closer. ‘And there’s no age in a man’s eyes, and yours are as black as death. Bet you wear contacts on jobs, right?’

  Victor didn’t answer.

  ‘Of course you do. I’m also thinking beard as often as not. Mix it up with the hair. All those different looks. All those different faces. Guy as private as you gets to be good at pretending to be other people because you spend every second hiding who you really are. A regular chameleon.’

  ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘Who says I have to have a point? We’re just talking here.’

  ‘No we’re not.’

  Hart stroked the Phantom’s bodywork with the fingertips of one hand. ‘You and Dietrich don’t seem to get along too well.’

  ‘It’s just playground stuff. Boys being boys.’

  ‘What about the other two: Jaeger and Coughlin? You’ve known them as long as you’ve known Dietrich, so what do you think?’

  ‘They must be good if Leeson hired them,’ Victor said, thinking about Jaeger’s plan to kill the team.

  ‘Because Leeson hired you, and you’re good?’

  ‘Yes,’ Victor said, thinking about how Kooi had failed to kill Charters as Leeson had wanted, yet Leeson had hired him for this job regardless. Because he needed Kooi and only Kooi.

  ‘How did you end up doing work for Leeson?’

  ‘Long story,’ Victor answered.

  ‘You’ll have to tell me it sometime.’

  There was something in Hart’s tone Victor couldn’t read, so he didn’t respond.

  Hart walked closer. ‘You seem nervous.’

  ‘I don’t get nervous.’

  ‘You don’t trust me, do you?’

  ‘I don’t trust anyone,’ Victor said. ‘You and Leeson seem close.’

  ‘Do we? Guess that’s because I was hired first so I’ve known him longer than you or those other three reprobates.’

  ‘What’s Francesca got to do with this?’

  Hart looked at him a moment before asking, ‘Why am I detecting there’s more to that question than just those words?’

  ‘What is she doing here?’

  ‘Why are you so interested?’

  ‘She’s not a professional,’ Victor said.

  ‘Does she have to be?’

  ‘She shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘She’s got free will, same as everyone else. And she knows where the door is.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have involved her.’

  ‘Who says I did? She works for Leeson, not for me. I didn’t involve her in anything. If you’ve got a problem with her being here then you should take it up with her. Or him. But not me. So, are you going to tell me what all this is really about?’

  Victor just looked at him.

  One half of Hart’s mouth formed a smile. ‘She’s not mine, if that’s what you’ve been thinking.’

  ‘I imagine she’ll be pleased to find out she’s not your property.’

  ‘Turn of phrase.’

  ‘Sure it was.’

  Hart asked, ‘Why do I get the impression that you don’t like me very much?’

  Victor didn’t answer. They stared at each other for a moment.

  Leeson’s voice broke the silence: ‘Have you got lost in there, Mr Kooi?’

  He appeared outside the open barn door. ‘For a man as keen to get to work as yourself, you seem strangely intent on delaying its initiation.’

  ‘Coming now,’ Victor said.

  ‘Sorry to hold him up,’ Hart said. ‘We’ve been getting to know each other.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that nice?’ Leeson said without sincerity. He gestured to Victor. ‘The Phantom, if you please.’

  ‘Good talking to you, Dutch,’ Hart said. ‘Maybe we can continue this conversation another time.’

  Victor waited until Hart had left the barn, then climbed into the limousine.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Victor drove the Rolls-Royce out of the barn, killed the engine, and climbed out. The sun was setting and a light was on in the kitchen, so Victor could see through t
he window to where Hart, Leeson, Dietrich, Jaeger, Coughlin and Francesca stood. Victor couldn’t see Leeson’s lips, but he was gesticulating to emphasise whatever points he was making to the others, who all stood still as they listened. Those faces Victor could see were blank with concentration. Whatever Leeson was telling them was important. Victor thought more about Leeson’s decision to send him out to the barn.