Better Off Dead: (Victor the Assassin 4)

by WOOD TOM

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You’re not working on it?’ the director asked, a certain tone to his voice. ‘It’s not a narcotics situation?’

  ‘It’s not narcotics, but I do have some insight into the matter. Thought you might be interested in a few details about the chap running around shooting up half the city.’

  ‘Go on,’ he said. The director smiled at her, as though she were a child withholding a truth already known. ‘Don’t keep me waiting, there’s a good girl.’

  ‘He’s a professional killer. A freelance, as far as I’m aware. To begin with he worked primarily in Russia and Eastern Europe. His handler was a former FSB officer who’s since switched to organised crime. The CIA believe this assassin killed some of their people in the aftermath of a hit gone wrong in Paris two years ago. The SVR want him for kills in Russia and East Africa. And that’s without all the rumour swimming around the water cooler about incidents in Minsk and Rome. Shall I go on?’

  The director shook his head. ‘Then how is it he’s still walking around?’

  ‘Because the various parties haven’t worked out that he’s the same man.’

  ‘But you did?’

  ‘I’m the best at what I do.’

  ‘Are you telling me you know why he’s in London?’

  Anderton nodded. ‘That would be my fault.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘The shooters who’ve been engaging with him are a private security team consisting primarily of former members of our armed forces. They’re following my orders.’

  The director sat as far back as the chair would let him. He stared.

  Anderton continued: ‘They’re hunting the stepdaughter of this assassin’s former handler: Aleksandr Norimov. I don’t want to bore you with the specifics but she’s in a position to make my life very difficult. Alas, she’s being protected by this assassin. He’s making things… awkward.’

  ‘You can’t be serious. Is this some kind of sick joke?’

  ‘I assure you, it’s no joke. I have a list of things you can help me with. Some are perfectly legal. Others are a little greyer, to put it politely. But the sooner we put our heads together to get this sorted, the sooner you can pop back to Downing Street to get some well-deserved pats on the back. And then, naturally, I’m going to require that you forget all about this conversation.. Clear enough so far?’

  ‘I suggest you listen to me very carefully, Ms Anderton. You need to turn around and walk out of this office and start penning a suitably humble resignation letter. Obviously I don’t yet understand all the details – and by God I don’t want to – but I can confidently say there is nothing I can do to help you. You are, as they say, fucked.’

  She smiled at him. ‘I’m going to tell you a story, Jim. You don’t mind if I call you Jim, do you, Jim?’

  The director’s eyes narrowed. He pushed an intercom button with a little finger. ‘Have security come to my office immediately.’

  ‘Back in 1948, a seven pound baby boy was born in a sleepy village in rural Shropshire. He was —’

  ‘I have no idea what you think you’re doing, Ms Anderton, but I suggest you keep your trap firmly shut and don’t give security any trouble when they get here.’

  ‘The boy was a bright student from average means but he went on to win a scholarship at Trinity College. Not only was he intelligent and a hard worker, he was gay. He kept it a secret as far as he could, but entered into a relationship with a fellow student. Things turned sour when this student decided he didn’t want to be gay and ended the relationship. There was an argument. The boy was later found dead.’

  The director’s face had gone white.

  Anderton perched herself on the director’s side of the desk and looked down at him. ‘The coroner ruled it a suicide but there was some doubt, wasn’t there?’

  ‘How do —?’

  ‘Because I do my homework, sir. I know all your dirty little secrets, just like I know the secrets of every man and woman in this place. Don’t look so surprised. We’re in the secrets business.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’ve told you. I want your assistance – phone trace authorisations, restricted database access, that sort of thing. And importantly I need a back-dated authorisation letter to absolve me of my actions up until now, and for what will follow.’

  ‘What does that mean: what will follow?’

  ‘It means things are going to get very dirty, Jim. But I want to come out of this clean. And now you want me to come out clean, don’t you?’ She smiled, reassuringly.

  ‘You know that is beyond even my power. Whatever happens next, what’s already happened has to be explained. We can’t just pretend it never happened.’

  She brushed some lint from the shoulder pad of his suit jacket. ‘You can have everyone else involved, how does that sound? The mercenaries work for Marcus Lambert’s private security firm. He’s a big old fish to catch, isn’t he? Been involved in all sorts of questionable activities over the past few years, hasn’t he? When this is over I can give you the name of every shooter involved and evidence that Marcus had them brought to London. It’ll all be wrapped up nice and fast and tidy. And the right people will hang for it. Well, except me.’

  ‘You’re a monster.’

  ‘Oh, Jim.’ Anderton held his face in her palms. ‘I do find it amusing you say that as if it’s a bad thing when we both know that’s precisely why you hired me in the first place.’

  SIXTY-THREE

  The winter sun was bright in a cloudless sky. Victor drove like the other city drivers – slow, within the speed limit, acting like everyone else and not someone hunted by enemies and on the run from the authorities. The car was stolen, but only recently. No one would be looking for it yet and it would be abandoned long before it became a risk.

  He parked the car and left the engine running to encourage someone to steal it. He led Gisele on foot down a busy street. Iron bollards lined the pavement, designed to look like the deactivated cannons from the Crimean War that had once been used in their place. Permanent reminders of an imperial past, ignored by those who walked by them.

  Around him, people who had never jogged a day in their lives wore sportswear and trainers. Market traders shouted to advertise their wares and counted out change, fingertips red in the cold air while the rest of their hands stayed warm under the protection of fingerless gloves. He stopped at a street stall selling souvenir clothing. There were lots of football shirts and T-shirts printed with ‘I ♥ London’ and faces of Royal Family members. He picked out a hooded sweatshirt that said ‘Oxford’ on the front and a cap with an image of the city skyline. He paid the vendor.

  ‘Very you,’ Gisele said.

  He took her out of the flow of pedestrians and pushed the sweatshirt into her hands. ‘Put this on.’

  ‘You’re joking, surely? It’s about four sizes too big.’

  ‘It’s only one size too big. It’ll change your body shape.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  ‘So the people looking to kill you will have a harder time picking you out of a crowd. Hurry up.’

  She did as instructed, pulling a face the whole time. He adjusted the strap at the back of the cap and fitted it on to her head.

  Gisele said, ‘I look ridiculous, don’t I?’

  ‘You look like a tourist.’

  ‘Like I said, ridiculous.’

  ‘We need to be as forgettable as possible. We have to be anonymous. If you look and act like everyone else, it will make it more difficult for them to spot us.’

  ‘What about you? You look the same as you did yesterday.’

  ‘I know how to make sure people don’t see me.’

  ‘Yeah…’ she said. ‘Must be useful in your line of work. Maybe after this is over I’ll switch careers. Mine is dangerous enough as it is.’

  He didn’t respond to that.

  She stopped, thinking. ‘We agree that, whoever this woman is, she’s after me becau
se of my job.’

  ‘It appears that way. We can’t know for sure yet.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Pedantic. We think that’s it. But as I said before, I’m not a barrister. Any work I do is for the qualified barristers. Maybe this woman is really after someone else. Maybe it’s a mistake, her wanting me dead.’

  Victor thought back to his visit to Gisele’s firm. He cycled through his conversation with the receptionist. It’s probably the office bug. An innocuous statement at the time, but no longer.

  He said, ‘While you were still going into work, was anyone off sick? Did anyone not show up that day or during the days beforehand?’

  ‘I… I don’t know.’

  ‘Please think, Gisele. Take your time. Were any of the other lawyers not in the office that day?’

  The tip of her tongue was visible between her lips while she tried to remember. Then her eyes widened and she said, ‘Lester Daniels. He hadn’t been in for a couple of days. I’ve no idea why.’

  ‘What kind of law did he practise?’

  ‘That’s a good question. He’s kind of this old jack-of-all-trades at the firm. Bit of a renegade. I love the guy. Such a character. But what does this have to do with Lester?’

  ‘Did you work with him at all?’

  ‘Of course. All the time. I’m the firm’s general dogsbody. Oh shit, what are you saying? Is Lester involved in this?’

  ‘Perhaps. Do you know where he lives?’

  The Daniels’ home was a three-storey townhouse in the centre of a parade of identical flawless residences with brilliant cream façades fronted by black wrought-iron fencing. One million pounds bought a mansion in most parts of the world. In a pleasant area of London, it bought a three-bedroom house with on-street parking.

  ‘How well do you know Lester?’ Victor asked as they approached.

  ‘As well as anyone knows their boss, I guess. Perhaps better. There have been a lot of firm social evenings. Drinks in swanky bars when someone wins a case, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Do you know what car he drives?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘One of those classic sports cars with a soft top. Racing green, he told me.’

  Victor didn’t enquire further because there was no such car parked on the street. Vehicles lined each kerb, nose to tail. There were no empty spaces and only enough road left between either flank for a single car to drive along slowly. Victor liked that. A Range Rover would have difficulty giving chase and there was nowhere for watchers to loiter.

  Gisele drew a breath and pushed the doorbell. It rang with a cheery electronic jingle. Victor noted the speed with which it was answered, but not by Lester Daniels. He took the woman before him to be Mrs Daniels, based on her age, the ring on her finger and her expression. It was one of anxiousness and pain. He wasn’t as surprised as Gisele, who hesitated and stammered when the woman asked:

  ‘What do you want?’

  The lack of politeness and tone matched his evaluation of her. She was stressed and worried and had better things to do than answer the doorbell to strangers.

  ‘I… uh… I’m Gisele Maynard. I… I work with Mr Daniels. I was wondering if I – we – could speak with him.’

  The woman looked at Gisele with wide, disbelieving eyes that shone with anger. ‘Is this some kind of fucking joke?’

  Gisele was too shocked to respond.

  Victor said, ‘Has something happened to Lester?’

  The angry eyes snapped in his direction. ‘I wouldn’t know, would I? He’s missing.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Gisele breathed, putting a hand to her mouth.

  ‘Who are you people? What do you want?’

  Victor said, ‘May we come in, Mrs Daniels?’

  ‘It’s Rose, and you haven’t answered my question. Who are you and why are you here? This really isn’t a good time. My husband is missing.’

  ‘As I was saying,’ Gisele began, ‘I work with Lester. But I’ve been off… sick for the last week. This here,’ she put a hand on Victor’s arm, ‘is my brother, Jonathan. I didn’t know Lester was missing. I’m so sorry. Is there anything we can do to help?’

  The offer seemed to soothe the anger from Rose Daniels’ face. But pain replaced it. Her eyes moistened. ‘Thank you, that’s kind of you.’ She stepped aside and held open her door. ‘Come inside, please.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Gisele said, and entered through the doorway.

  Victor checked the street for any new vehicles or people, but there were none. He followed.

  Rose Daniels was a small woman who seemed smaller still in the tall hallway that rose high above Victor’s head. She led them through to the kitchen, where a mug of tea sat brewing and steaming on a wooden worktop. She took a teaspoon from its resting place near the mug and fished for the teabag. Her hand was trembling as she carried it to a bin and she dropped it. She started to cry.

  ‘Allow me,’ Victor said as he used his nails to retrieve the teabag from the slate floor and took a square of kitchen towel from a roll to wipe up the mess.

  Rose nodded her thanks as she dabbed her eyes and gestured for them to sit at a breakfast bar. Gisele complied, but Victor remained standing where he could see the hallway and the kitchen window without having to turn his head.

  She began talking without any prompts.

  ‘The police are useless. They say he’s not missing. They say he’s been using his credit card and his car has been recorded on CCTV. They haven’t said as much, but I can tell they think he’s run off with another woman. But Lester would never do that. He wouldn’t. He really wouldn’t.’

  ‘I don’t believe it either,’ Gisele said. ‘Lester’s a lovely man.’

  Rose cried again at that, but controlled herself after a moment.

  ‘When did you last see him?’ Victor said, trying to sound like a concerned acquaintance and not an investigator.

  ‘Over a week ago,’ she said. ‘He left for work as normal on Wednesday and never came home. He wouldn’t simply disappear on me without saying anything. Something’s happened. I know it.’

  Gisele looked at Victor, who made sure not to look back in case Rose saw the exchange.

  ‘I think,’ Gisele began, ‘that what happened to —’

  Victor interrupted before she could continue: ‘Are any of his clothes missing?’

  Rose looked away. ‘Yes. I checked, of course, after what the police told me about his card. But I don’t believe it. There must be another explanation.’

  He saw from Gisele’s eyes that she understood the reason for his interruption. She said, ‘Was he stressed because of work? I know he had a big caseload.’

  ‘Lester loved his job. Even when he was overworked. If you’re trying to imply he couldn’t cope and disappeared then —’

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ Gisele was quick to assure. ‘That’s not what I meant. I don’t know what I meant. This is all so shocking.’

  They sat in silence for a while. Rose sipped tea, then said, ‘Forgive me. I didn’t ask if you wanted any. How rude of me.’

  She went to stand but Victor held out a hand to motion for her not to. ‘That’s okay. We’re going to have to go, I’m afraid. My sister is giving me a lift to the airport.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Don’t let me hold you up.’

  Gisele said, ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you at this difficult time. Is there anyone I can call for you?’

  Rose exhaled sharply. ‘The damned police. You can tell them to do their job.’

  They said their goodbyes and left Rose to her tears.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  Outside, as they walked away, Gisele said, ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

  Victor nodded.

  ‘But why? I don’t understand. What did he do? Something he was working on? Someone he was representing?’

  ‘That’s what we need to find out. Whoever this woman is, she’s connected to one of Lester’s cases – and that case must have the potential to destroy her. If she thought killing the lawyer working the case woul
d prevent it going ahead, that suggests no other lawyer could step in. So, either Lester is the only barrister on the planet who was able to take the case, or there won’t be enough time for another to continue it now he’s out of the way. So, which case did you work on with Lester that has an inbuilt deadline? Possibly a case that he picked up only recently.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She saw the scepticism in his eyes. ‘I don’t. I said I worked for him sometimes. I didn’t say I knew the details of everything he did. I filed, I researched, I photocopied and made him cups of Earl Grey. It’s not as if I even met the clients. He would work on dozens of different cases at any one time. Like I said, he was a maverick. He did things his own way. He didn’t even like to share with the other seniors. He would never tell me anything important. To have any idea what this might be about I’d have to go to the firm and check through his case files.’

  Victor shook his head. ‘You can’t do that. They’ll be watching.’

  ‘Then we’ll never know what this is about. We’ll never know why Lester was killed. We’ll never know why I’m… Hold on.’ She stopped and turned to face him, forcing him to stop too. ‘If Lester is the barrister on a case that could, as you say, destroy her, why does she want me dead?’

  He said, ‘Because you worked on the case too, even if you don’t know you did. Lester must have told her that. He must have given her your name.’

  ‘Why? That makes no sense.’

  ‘I’m afraid it does make sense. They must have tortured him or threatened to kill him or his family. Before he was killed, he gave them your name. They asked him who else knew what he did and he said you.’

  ‘No. He wouldn’t do that. Not Lester. There’s no reason to. It was a lie. I don’t know anything.’

  ‘Everyone talks in that situation. And you do know. There’s a piece of information you have that she can’t risk getting out. Lester was the original target, but you’re a loose end.’

  ‘What the fuck does that mean? That I have to be killed just in case?’ She put her face in her hands. ‘So all this is a mistake? Oh my God, people are trying to kill me for no fucking reason.’