by Jo Black
‘I’m fine. Please. The table is here to share. So where is your journey to this time?’
Hunter stared out the window. ‘That’s a good question...’ His new friend frowned at Hunter a little quizzically, but felt rude prying any further, and returned his attention to the conversation with his brother.
60
The convoy of Audi S8’s sped into the parking compound at the Bastille secure prison. Alex got out of his car and made his way inside, leaving his men behind.
The door to the small interview room opened and Alex stepped in. Radic, dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit, hands and legs both chained together and anchored to the desk by a secure padlock, looked up at the sudden arrival. He let out a resigned smile. ‘I wondered who they would send.’ Alex didn’t speak. He walked over and took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, reached over and put it in Radic’s mouth for him. ‘Spasiba,’ Radic said coughing as he inhaled the first drag of a cigarette since his incarceration.
‘That’s a filthy habit.’
‘There are many. Why restrict to one? So. How is it to be? Hanging? Fell over and broke neck on table? Poison in the cigarette? What is favoured method of K.G.B these days?’
‘F.S.B.’
‘It will always be K.G.B.’
‘I’m not here for that.’
‘Really? Is that the next guy? Tell your bosses to go fuck. I didn’t talk. But they fuck me, I’m gonna make fuck too.’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘You’ll see. After the fuck comes.’
‘How about you tell me now, then maybe the fuck doesn’t come.’
‘I have insurance policy. When Radic takes the fuck, then friends of Radic will show you how to really do fuck.’
‘Your records I assume. You’re not shit-for-brains enough to leave them anywhere we, or your prosecutors, might find them.’
‘That secret either go to grave with Radic, or go someplace if Radic is put in grave by some people. Now what you have to say, K.G.B man.’
‘I’m not here on behalf of the K.G.B.’
‘Oh really? You’re Grigor’s little attack dog. Yap yap yap. Bite bite bite. Sit little doggy. Sit.’
Alex kept his cool, barely raising his tone of voice despite Radic’s clear attempt to rile him. ‘I’m here with an offer from your friend.’
‘Radic has no friend who is friend of you.’
‘You may think you know what is going on Radic, but you are a long way from being a man of power in Serbia these days. You are nothing more than a petty servant of whoever favours you.’
‘Go fuck.’
Alex nodded. ‘You asked. So I’ll tell you how it’ll end. They’ve got very good at it. Something in your tea, maybe your water. Maybe your toothpaste. Doesn’t need much. You won’t even notice it, a slightly bitter metallic taste on the tongue, but easily ignored. But what you won’t ignore is the increasing headaches, the sweats, your hair failing out then your teeth, then your gums, nose and mouth sores constantly bleeding, your balls shrivelling up and penis weeping septic fluid. Then the really good shit starts as your liver stops functioning, your kidneys, and then your lungs. Pain everywhere. Blindness. They won’t know what’s wrong with you so they’ll put you on a drip, medicate you. Extend the suffering until finally, when your whole body is in complete failure, and your heart and lungs call time on the tragedy of your life, they still won’t have the slightest fucking clue what killed you.’
‘You think I’m afraid?’
‘You fucking should be. Six months. Twelve months. They can choose. That’s a long time to reflect on the deal you could have taken. Should have taken. In the end they know you’ll plead with them to make it stop, release you, then you’ll beg them and give up whatever you have to end it.’ Alex shrugged his shoulders passively. He got up to leave. As he reached the door Radic called after him.
‘Wait.’ Alex turned round. ‘Why I should trust you?’
‘I don’t see you have much option. People aren’t exactly lining up to offer you a deal.’
Radic stared at Alex for a few minutes while he considered his options. ‘Okay sit.’ Alex returned and sat down. ‘Maybe you and Radic talk some more.’
‘So let’s talk.’
‘What you going to do for Radic?’
‘What does Radic want?’
‘Out of here. No fucking war crime trial. Maybe money, passport, new place...’
‘And what are you going to do for me?’
‘He want document back. I only need document in here in case you fuck Radic. You no fuck Radic, you let Radic go, Radic take care of Radic. No problem. No need insurance policy. Then they come to Radic, then Radic do all fucking.’
‘Passport. Money. New place.’
‘You get your shit. We make good thing. How I know you can do this thing for Radic?’
‘Because you know who I am, what I do.’
‘You real big dog now. Careful. Maybe owner decide big dog scare him then put in bag and drown in lake.’
‘You ever seen someone put a big dog in a bag and drown it?’
‘I see lot of Bosnian big dogs get the fuck.’
‘Well I’m not Bosnian. We have a deal?’
‘We have a deal. But I have one condition.’
‘What?’
‘Your friend, the Scotlander. If I make this deal he gonna suck Radic’s cock and swallow it.’
‘Don’t push your luck Radic. I don’t have the patience for it.’
‘Okay. Radic is just fucking with you. I make this deal. How I know when happens?’
Alex got up and looked down at him. ‘You’ll know when it happens, believe me.’ Alex left the cell, exited the building returning to his car. Nish was waiting.
‘Well?’ Nish asked.
‘We’re on.’ Alex got in the back of the car.
‘Great. Now how do we get him out?’
‘That’s what we need to figure out. Call Vane, get everyone to the Slaughterhouse.’ The convoy pulled away and headed out of the city.
61
It was early in the morning and the small bar was empty except for a couple of Japanese tourists reading guidebooks whilst drinking espressos. Hunter walked in and noted the man in the corner wasn’t there. ‘Un espresso s’il vous plait,’ Hunter ordered from the bar. ‘Le toilette?’ The barman gestured through the back. ‘Merci.’ Hunter walked through. Checking behind him he put a Euro in the phone and punched in a number.
‘Pont Neuf. One Hour,’ the message played. ‘No more messages.’ Hunter put the phone down, went to the W.C. Waited thirty seconds, flushed the toilet and returned. He paid the barman for the coffee and checked his watch. It was the first time the meet location had changed from the usual place. He analysed the reasons why, remembering The Frenchman’s caution of the sniper by the church, perhaps he’d changed it for that reason. It was the first time he had met so early, so maybe there was a different routine. He finished his coffee, nodded at the barman and left the bar. He scanned up and down the street, wrapping his scarf around his neck and pulled down his flat cap to shelter from the first snow flurry of winter. He made his way to the metro station, bought a ticket then walked over and traced his route to the station nearest to Pont Neuf Bridge over the River Seine. He made his way down to the station platform, it was mostly empty. The artist’s quarter was rarely busy as its occupants slept off the previous night’s drinking sessions discussing Le Sartre and Victor Hugo whilst procrastinating over whatever artistic work they had started, but likely would never finish. The train arrived, Hunter checked in the carriage before finding a seat next to an old lady reading a newspaper. He picked up an abandoned copy of Le Monde and began reading it as the train pulled out of the station. As it made its way through the city the train filled up. Hunter changed lines through a busy intercourse, got on another train before arriving at his destination. A distinct chill cut down The Seine as he crossed over the busy road and began walking towards the centre of the bridge. He reached it, took out a small
tourist map he had in his pocket and began to unfold it, pretending to look for directions for a few minutes.
‘Are you lost?’ The American voice over his shoulder asked. ‘I can be of some assistance.’ Hunter turned round to look at the man briefly.
‘I think I’m okay. Just trying to get my bearings.’
‘It’s easy to end up pointing in the wrong direction isn’t it? On a long journey. Sometimes you need just a nudge in the right direction so you can get to your destination.’ The man walked over and stood next to Hunter, looking over the river. Dressed in a long black wool coat over a smart black suit and red necktie, expensive framed glasses, a small American flag lapel pin badge. Hunter looked at him.
‘I guess so.’
‘So, maybe I can give you that nudge. What do you say?’
Hunter nodded. ‘If you think a nudge is all I need.’
Sanders smiled. ‘Perhaps something to help cover the costs needed to get where you want to be?’
‘How do you know where I want to go?’
‘Because it’s where we all want to go, isn’t it? The top of the hill, where the air is clear and the view is unobstructed.’
‘Do you know the way?’
‘I can take you there, if you like.’
‘How do I know I won’t end up getting lost on the way?’
‘You don’t I suppose. But then if I didn’t think you were meant to come to the top of the hill, why would I have come to guide you there in person, Judas Iscariot.’
Hunter turned to face him. ‘I know your face, but I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance.’
‘You know who I am. I’m Sanders.’
‘I’m a patriot Sanders.’
‘Of course you are, you’ve given your life’s work to the flag, we appreciate that. But like all patriots you weren’t always well rewarded for your efforts. We’d like to make amends.’
‘Is it that simple?’
‘It can be.’ Sanders shrugged. ‘We understand the sentimentality over the girl. You wouldn’t be the first or the last patriot to have their head turned by a pretty young thing. Maybe we handled things badly. She was working in the right direction, but she just didn’t understand the bigger picture.’
‘And you think I do?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. But if you let us illuminate that picture fully for you then you’ll come to understand that we’re all working to a common purpose here. You, me, the girl. Nobody needs to fall out over these things. It played out badly because we let people who were not so competent deal with it. That’s why I’m here. To make sure we deal with things the right way, to get the right result, for our country.’ Sanders put a hand on Hunter’s shoulder and squeezed it. ‘Now how about I give you that nudge, I’m sure we can get you to your destination. We both know where you want that to be, now don’t we? A seat in the big office, a say in how things are done. I can give that to you.’ Sanders removed a U.S flag pin lapel from his pocket and pinned it on Hunter’s jacket. ‘It’s time to remember who you are, where you belong. Whose team you are fighting for. Come home with me. Let me take you to that house on the hill.’ Hunter nodded. ‘Good. You know it’s the right thing to do.’ Hunter turned round, a black Chevy Tahoe was waiting, escorting a black limousine with a U.S embassy flag on the bonnet, in between another Chevy Tahoe. Sanders and Hunter walked over to the car. The driver opened the door and Sanders gestured Hunter to get in. ‘It’s time to go home Hunter, where you belong.’
From across the bridge in a parked Renault, Vincent watched as Hunter got in the car and the convoy drove away. He took out his cell phone and dialled a number. ‘It’s me, Hunter betrayed you. I’ll meet you at the farm.’ Vincent put his phone back in his pocket and started his car. He drove across the bridge and headed for the ring road to exit the city.
62
Vincent arrived at the old farm located on the northeast outskirts of Paris. In the depths of winter it was a desolate place surrounded by empty fields and a line of barren trees where crows were the only sound to break the silence, apart from the diesel clatter from Vincent’s old Renault as it made its way down the drive towards the main complex of buildings around the piggery and slaughterhouse. He pulled into the forecourt. There was no sign of life, but he got the sensation he was being watched. He got out the car and headed towards the slaughterhouse where one of Alex’s guards let him through. Inside the large empty warehouse there were three large steel shipping containers, Vane and his men were unloading and assembling a range of black Super Moto bikes. Alex was near a large table with a huge map laid out of the greater Paris area as Nish co-ordinated the rest of his men kitting-up in the black fireproof Nomex tactical outfits, balaclavas, and combat vests of France’s counter-terrorism police. A range of automatic weapons laid out ready.
Vincent walked over to Alex. ‘Radic is being moved to The Hague for the trial. I just got word the extradition process was complete. I’m sorry I didn’t get more notice. They are concerned about security.’
‘They should be. I need the routes,’ Alex replied.
‘I can do better than that.’
‘Nish. Vane. It’s on. They’re moving him.’ Nish and Vane walked over. ‘Do you know when?’ Alex asked.
‘Sometime this afternoon. I don’t have the exact time.’
‘Vane, you take your guys on the bikes. Get to The Bastille. Vincent will lead you to the exit they’ll use. You know what you have to do from there.’
‘We’re on it.’
Alex looked at his watch. ‘Get ready to go, we don’t have long.’
‘What else do you need?’ Vincent asked.
Alex looked at Vincent. ‘You sure you want to do this? They’ll know it was you. We’ve already lost the English House...’ Alex looked at Vane. He drew a deep sigh then looked at Vincent. ‘If we lose the French House as well, that’s a heavy price to pay so early in the game.’
Vincent shrugged. ‘The price is the price. We have to protect the Russia House at all costs — that is what matters. That is what is written. If we do not control that then the prophecy cannot be fulfilled as it is written,’ Vincent said.
‘Let’s hope whoever wrote it, didn’t fuck up,’ Nish said and shrugged.
‘Maybe I’ll enjoy retirement in Switzerland.’ Vincent smiled.
‘I don’t think any of us will be retiring to Switzerland in the near future.’ Alex looked at Vane then Vincent. ‘I think it’s starting...’
‘Then it doesn’t matter if we lose the English House,’ Vane said.
‘Or the French...’ Vincent added. ‘They’ve played their part in history. Herein the Russia House is the only one we need to control. If we all have to support it, then so be it.’
Alex nodded. ‘Devreaux won’t like it.’
‘We don’t have time to get approval Alex, this is the starting gun. We don’t want to be out of the blocks late,’ Vane said. ‘You need to make the call.’
Alex looked at Vincent. ‘It’s your house Vincent.’
‘I agree with Charles.’
‘You need to make arrangements to get your family out.’
‘I can take care of it. As soon as we’ve got Radic.’
Alex stared at the map. ‘If we are to act, we must act now.’ He closed his eyes and paused for reflection before opening them a few minutes later. ‘We act.’
Vane and Vincent nodded. ‘We’ll see you at the Rendezvous Point.’ Vane returned to his men. ‘You’ve got ten minutes then we’re gone.’
‘You don’t seem surprised, or upset. About Hunter’s actions,’ Vincent said.
‘He has his own decisions to make about what part to play. He has the luxury of freedom of choice to make his decisions. We have no such luxury in The Guild. Our path is already written for us.’
‘It is the right path. I have faith in it.’
‘At what cost though Vincent? At what cost...’
‘We are not taking any life that has not already been accounted for. They�
�ve had every chance to amend, and it becomes clear to me, to all of us, the situation is now in decline. I do not believe this time they will find their way before this planet reaches the critical point we cannot pass.’
‘Sadly we don’t have time to reflect on the decisions that have been forced upon us. Peace be upon on you brother.’
‘And you brother.’ Vincent returned to his car as Vane and his team fired up their noisy motorbikes. He looked across at Alex. Alex nodded at him. Vane nodded back and flipped the black visor on his helmet down before accelerating out of the building with his men following. Nish walked over to the table. ‘And so it begins...the great game of our time,’ Alex said to him.
63
Vane pulled alongside Vincent’s car parked in the narrow back street. Vincent rolled down his window. ‘They will come out through the roller shutter door service exit over there.’ Vincent rolled up his window and pulled away.
Vane nodded to his fellow riders. They split and took up positions amongst the groups of motorbikes parked at both ends of the street. Vane backed his bike between two cars parked opposite the exit gate, he pressed the ignition kill switch and put his bike on its kickstand. He got off his bike, took out his cell phone and punched in a number. ‘We’re in position. We’ll call you when they leave.’ He hung up the call and put his phone away.
Vincent made his way out of the city to a secluded parking spot in some woodland and pulled in. Ten minutes later, the distinctive crackle from a chorus of German V8 engines pierced the air as three black Audi S8’s arrived and pulled in, all their occupants clad in French Special Forces uniforms: black balaclavas, goggles and helmets. Alex got out and popped the trunk of his car. ‘Get changed, be quick.’ Vincent quickly stripped off his clothes, watch, wallet, and all personal belongings. One of Alex’s men took his clothes and belongings then returned to the rear car. Two of Alex’s men pulled a bound, gagged, and hooded body out of the trunk; they quickly worked to dress the man in Vincent’s clothes, pinning him down as he struggled. They placed all Vincent’s belongings in the captive’s pockets before taking him to the woods nearby where a second team had set up a video camera. Hamid had replaced his jacket and balaclava with a patterned headdress, black sunglasses, and a green fighter’s jacket. They hung up a black Islamic jihad flag on two poles and set the camera to record. Hamid read out a speech from a piece of paper.
