She collected her drink, which looked to Harry like a straight tonic, and led him to a table away from the other guests.
‘Sorry about the crush – when we don’t have corporate meetings, we get a lot of military personnel and their families passing through.’ She sat neatly and sipped her drink. ‘Our policy is to support the military at all times. Carl tells me you were with him in Kosovo?’ Her tone ended each sentence on a rising inflection, and Kosovo was pronounced with soft and rounded Os.
‘That’s right.’ Harry wondered how much Pendry had told her.
‘Close protection?’ she said with no trace of irony. ‘Does that mean you’re like the Secret Service, you have to put yourself in front of the – what is it? – the veepee?’
‘Actually, the industry standard is to duck for cover and let the veepee take the bullet.’
‘That’s what Carl said. I didn’t believe him, either.’ The look she gave Harry warned him she wasn’t a weak, fluffy-headed female who needed protecting from the harsher truths of the world, so he could cut the bullshit. He decided he liked her.
‘Have you and Carl been friends for long?’
‘Sure. We were at school together. Then he joined the army and moved away. I stayed around here and did college and majored in business studies. We bumped into each other again in Columbus about a month ago.’ She grinned at the memory. ‘He’d put on about fifty pounds of muscle and grown another ten inches. I hardly recognized him. But we get on pretty good.’ She smiled meaningfully.
Then a shadow loomed over their table and a voice growled menacingly through the background hubbub. ‘Say, what’s a good southern gal doin’ with some skinny-assed white dude from England?’
In Columbus airport, Kassim made his way through the arrivals hall and found a cab. He asked to be taken to the city centre.
The driver nodded without a word. He was a skinny Asian with a scrub of jet-black hair over a pale, pockmarked face. He drove single-handed, the other beating time on the centre console to the radio, pausing only to answer incomprehensible bursts of chatter from his dispatcher. Other than an occasional glance in his rear-view mirror, he ignored his passenger completely.
Kassim was happy enough to sink into the rear seat and keep his head down. He was thinking about the Hotmail message he’d picked up in the internet café in New York. He had deleted the words immediately after reading them, but he could still see the text in his mind. It had warned him that the Americans were looking for him, that a pursuer was already out there, waiting for him to make a mistake. The message had also confirmed where he needed to go next.
He stared out at the garish lights of a Holiday Inn as they passed, and toyed with the idea of booking in for the night. At least here there would be no danger; he’d be just another weary traveller looking for a bed. After his night in the deserted building and the fight with the derelict, he needed a shower and some rest. But the faint lure of comfort gave way to the need for action . . . to prepare for what lay ahead.
After a couple of miles the cab stopped behind a line of vehicles edging past an auto wreck. Emergency crews were clearing up the debris, and an ambulance was just leaving. The cab driver applied his brake and sighed resignedly.
‘We wait,’ he explained shortly.
Kassim leaned forward and said, ‘I have to hire a car. You know of a person?’
The driver looked back at him in the mirror. A person, not a place. This passenger hadn’t been to the rental agencies at the airport, which had to be for a reason. A bad credit risk, maybe. He nodded. ‘Sure. I know. What kind car?’
‘Ordinary. Not big.’
‘Compact?’ The driver slapped the wheel. ‘Like this?’
Kassim nodded. ‘Ordinary.’
‘Sure. You have money?’ He rubbed his fingers and thumb together, the international sign for cash. His passenger needed a car without signing any papers, this was the only way.
‘I have,’ Kassim confirmed, and stared hard at the man in the mirror until he looked away. His message to the driver was brutally clear. Try to take advantage of me, and you will not live to see the morning.
He sat back and prepared to wait, thinking about the man who was coming after him. The name had been included in the Hotmail message, and was also in his pocket binder. Maybe this man had a double motive for finding him as quickly as possible: to stop him from carrying out his task and to conceal his own involvement. If so, Kassim reflected, then it would be right that they meet soon.
He pulled out the binder and stared hard at the photo of Harry Tate, committing the face to memory.
NINETEEN
Harry looked up to find Carl Pendry grinning down at him, his dark skin gleaming under the soft lights. He was dressed in chinos and a pale shirt, his arm muscles bulging under the thin fabric.
‘For a minute there I thought a human being had walked in,’ Harry responded drily. ‘But it’s just a robot grunt in civilian clothes.’
Pendry looked affronted. ‘Hey, white boy, don’t diss the threads – they cost serious money!’ He bent to kiss Gail on the cheek. ‘Hi, honey – sorry I’m late. This guy giving you trouble?’
Gail smiled and returned the kiss. ‘No, he’s been a perfect gentleman. You could learn a thing or two from him.’
Pendry rolled his eyes. ‘Why is it all you women think the sun sets on ginnelmen?’ He threw a mock scowl at Harry. ‘See what you done, comin’ down here wit yo’ fancy English ways? It’s gonna take me weeks to get her back to likin’ our brutal southern style.’
Gail stood up, her hand on Pendry’s arm. ‘I’ve got to go look after these convention folks. See you tomorrow?’ Pendry nodded and Gail smiled at Harry. ‘It’s been nice meeting you. If you need to stay longer, let me know.’
Harry stood up and nodded. ‘That’s very kind.’
They watched her walk away, then sat down.
‘Have you eaten yet?’ Pendry asked, his voice becoming serious. ‘I guess you want to talk.’
‘That would be good.’
They went into the restaurant and ordered, sitting away from the door so they wouldn’t be interrupted. Over drinks, they quickly caught up on the years since Kosovo.
For Harry it was out of the army and into the Security Service, then civilian life; for Pendry it was a standard round of military postings around the world until he became a senior instructor at the Airborne School, Fort Benning. When talk got round to the other members of the CP team, Harry judged the time right to tell him what had happened.
Pendry said nothing until Harry concluded with the murder of a young girl. He left it until last so that he could judge the other man’s reaction.
‘You serious?’ Pendry looked shocked. ‘Man, they weren’t into any of that shit. Broms – he’s what we’d call a good ol’ farm boy; the Frenchman was too professional to crap crooked. As for shakin’ it with the locals?’ He shook his head in bafflement. ‘When did we get the time?’
‘That’s what I thought.’ Harry told him about the third killing in New York, of the Marine, Carvalho. ‘Did you speak to him?’
‘Said hi, probably. He was in the compound after the others left, but he seemed a regular guy – for a Marine, anyway. He get cut the same way?’
‘Yes. He fought back, but it didn’t do any good.’
Pendry looked keenly at him. ‘You figure this killer’s working his way through the whole convoy? That’s crazy.’ He went silent as the waitress came with their food.
Harry shrugged and began to eat. ‘Maybe he doesn’t know who he’s after, so he’s hunting down everyone on the list until he finds the guilty man. That’s why I’m doing the rounds. Deane’s sending out a warning to the rest of the convoy personnel.’ He put his fork down. ‘I’m going to see Bikovsky next. Do you know why he left the army?’
Pendry shook his head. ‘Nothing personal. Had a beef about refugees and asylum seekers, but he’s not alone in that. Maybe he was burned out. It happens.’ He gave Harry a hard loo
k. ‘But you’re not here just to give me a warning, are you?’
‘You’ve lost me,’ Harry said easily.
‘Yeah, right.’ Pendry’s friendly demeanour was gone. ‘You really trailed all the way out here to warn me that I might have a killer freak on my ass? Bikovsky, too? And – what was his name – Koslov? You going all the way to Minsk or Leningrad to warn him? You never heard of the phone?’
A couple of businessmen at a nearby table glanced across as Pendry’s words reached them, and the waitress at a dessert trolley paused in the middle of spooning out some gateau.
‘Moscow, actually,’ Harry replied. ‘And if I have to, yes.’
Pendry pushed his plate away. ‘I’m done,’ he hissed. ‘You want to ask me did I run a card game while I was running cover for the UN big cheese? Or in my free time, did I kill and rape a local girl?’
‘If I’d thought it was you,’ Harry said, quietly dispassionate, ‘we wouldn’t be sitting here. If the rumours are true, someone did it. It’s my job to find out who – and stop the rest of you joining Orti, Broms and Carvalho. One of you might have seen something – something completely innocent-looking but possibly significant. Asking on the phone wouldn’t have been enough . . . I have to do it face to face.’
The quiet force of Harry’s words drove the anger out of Pendry like air from a tyre. After a second or two he waved a hand and sat back. ‘Sorry. I thought you were looking at me for this thing.’
‘I’m looking at everyone. And I’m a suspect, too. We all are – those of us who are left.’
‘So what now?’
‘You watch your back. This killer’s taken out three good men so far – all combat trained. If it’s revenge for the girl he’s after, he’s got one hell of an incentive.’
Harry went to his room after saying goodbye to Pendry and lay down to let his mind go blank. Ten minutes later, there was a knock at his door. He opened it and stood back.
‘Hello, dear,’ said Rik Ferris, walking past him. He looked tired and rumpled from the flight, his hair even more spiky than usual. He was carrying a travel bag and a laptop case. ‘Nice hotel, this. Which is my bed?’
‘Your room’s down the hall. You’ll have to check in,’ Harry told him. ‘Any problems?’ He was referring to the flight over.
Rik shook his head. ‘No. Normal crap with immigration, but nothing unusual.’
They had discussed Rik’s involvement and decided on discretion while on the move. Former MI5 officers were not normally high on anyone’s suspect or watch list but Rik had been involved in the same shooting incident in central London as Harry a few months before, and they didn’t want to take a chance on his being stopped by an eagle-eyed security officer. And Harry already knew from the Irina Demescu episode how leaky the UN was. Having Rik in the background under an assumed name, rather than some nameless IT geek in the depths of UN Plaza, was a simple precaution.
‘This is for emergencies only.’ Harry handed him the UN ID card and the Ruger with a spare magazine.
Rik studied the name on the card. ‘Wasn’t there a Jim Morrison who killed himself?’
‘Is that a problem?’
Rik shrugged. ‘No, that’s cool. Way before my time, anyway.’ He checked the Ruger and inserted a magazine, then ejected it again. ‘Nice. Who do I get to shoot?’
Harry was watching him carefully. Rik was smiling but it didn’t quite look right. He knew why: Rik was thinking about the time he’d used a gun in London. He’d got shot then, but still kept firing. That kind of thing stays with you.
‘Nobody, I hope. You’re my back-stop. You stay below the parapet at all times. We don’t even travel together.’
‘Don’t you trust your new best friend?’
‘It’s not Deane who bothers me: the UN’s full of holes and I’d rather you didn’t figure on anyone’s radar. That way we keep an advantage.’
Rik nodded. ‘Fine.’ He put the gun down and produced two mobile phones. He handed one to Harry. ‘We keep in touch with these. I’ve already fed in my number. Use it and lose it if you have to – we can always get replacements. Deane has your UK mobile number, don’t forget; if he wants to find you, he’ll put a trace on the signal.’
‘You’re as paranoid as me.’
Rik gave a crooked smile. ‘I learned from the master.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Harry pointed at the internet connection on the side table. ‘Plug in and boot up. We’ve got work to do.’
TWENTY
Sergeant Carl Pendry had eased his way with care into a clump of juniper, and was waiting for the first of his sniper class to arrive. The morning was fresh with the smell of damp earth, a touch of pine and closer to, the sharp, rich aroma of crushed grass. High in the trees a squirrel scratched away, oblivious to the man below. It was one of the things Pendry loved about this job and always impressed on his trainees: snipers were in a dangerous profession, out on their own or with a spotter for hours, even days at a time. But that didn’t mean a man couldn’t appreciate his surroundings.
Pendry was dressed in regulation camouflage smock and pants, his head covered by a green woollen net cap dotted with foliage. His face was a blend of wavy green camo paint to break up the darkness of his skin against the background, and in his hand he held an M16 assault rifle. He had been in the same position for forty minutes and was beginning to feel the first pangs of hunger. His mouth was dry from the effects of the drinks with Harry the previous evening, and he wished he’d brought some water. A glance at his watch told him it was just coming up to 6 a.m.
There were five men in the class, all of them better than good. Their task was simple: to approach and ‘take out’ Pendry without being detected. But it had to be within a thirty-yard kill zone. Anyone spotted before that was in danger of flunking the course or being back-marked. And none of them was keen to go through another six weeks of initiative tests, psychological assessments, assault courses and daily runs considered among the most demanding in the US military.
Their covert skills were still a little rough around the edges, and Pendry had decided to introduce an element of realism to the scenario. Earlier that morning he’d armed himself with a few flash-bangs – giant fireworks which could blow a metal pail several feet. In the words of the quartermaster-armourer, they were harmless to humans unless swallowed or, he’d added drily, if they landed right next to a trainee who was dreaming of his girl back home. The noise alone would blow the shit clean out of his bowels.
A faint scuffle a few yards away and the squirrel ceased its scratching. Pendry half-closed his eyes, concentrating on locating the source of the noise. He was guessing it would be Lloyd; he was the best of the bunch and unbelievably quick. Twenty-one years old and thin as a whippet, the farm boy from the Smokey Mountains could slide through the undergrowth like a snake.
Pendry pulled out one of the flash-bangs. Give it twenty seconds and if Mr Lloyd was sitting in the same spot, his ears would be ringing for a week. If that didn’t scare the crap out of him, and some idea of realism into him, Pendry had live rounds in his M16 to warm up the atmosphere around the boy’s head a little.
A small bird looped urgently out of a bush thirty feet away. It was near the source of the earlier sound, and Pendry heard a faint rasp of clothing. He grinned. Lloyd had snagged himself on a root. Now he was trying to free himself. This was going to be easy.
Then came a muffled drumming, followed by the sound of someone running through the bushes. He frowned. If that was Lloyd, he was going the wrong way!
Pendry exploded out of his hide, his M16 held across his body and the flash-bang spinning away into the grass. Either his star recruit had gone nuts or someone had intruded on the exercise. Damned civilians – they were way out of place this far into the training grounds! Now he had to make sure the stupid fucker didn’t get shot by one of the trainees.
He pounded after the intruder, brushing aside the hanging branches and catching a glimpse of a camouflage jacket disappearing into a
thicket fifty yards ahead.
‘Hey! Hold up there!’ he roared, and scrabbled for his cellphone. The man was running like an Olympic sprinter and Pendry knew he’d never catch him. But at least he could keep him in sight and alert security to get the stupid sonofabitch picked up before he got himself killed.
Then he caught a glimpse of a figure lying prone in deep cover, his rifle pointing straight at him. It was Lloyd.
Damn! That clever fuckin’ kid had set this up to deceive—
Pendry skidded to a stop. Something wasn’t right. He stared down at the trainee, a chill gripping his gut. The farm boy wasn’t moving. Lloyd was lying with his face down in the earth, a widening pool of blood spreading beneath him.
His throat had been cut from ear to ear.
An hour later the training area was swarming with security patrols and military police with dogs. Overhead a Bell AH-1Z attack helicopter cross-quartered the sky in a search pattern of the ground below, while a larger version thudded away after dropping off a fully armed search team. All training had been suspended and a military investigation team was on its way in. The whole area was in lockdown.
Harry Tate was studying the layout where the killing had happened, standing within an area marked by white tape. Lloyd’s body lay beneath a military groundsheet, the grass around him bright with splashes of blood.
‘Go over it again,’ Harry told the instructor, who was still stunned by what had happened. Fortunately, after calling security, Pendry had had the presence of mind to ring Harry at the hotel before he left. Harry had phoned Rik on the internal line and advised him to keep his head down and to continue trawling for information on the members of the CP team and any news about murdered girls in Kosovo in 1999.
Getting on to the training area had been surprisingly simple. It was the first time he’d used his UN pass, and although he’d had to resort to a phone call to New York, it had worked with surprising efficiency. Even so, he had been escorted to the scene of the killing by two armed troopers, who were still posted nearby.
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