by James White
“It’s the best I could do,” Carruthers said in a warning tone.
Nick stopped and looked at him.
Carruthers swallowed. “Nick, you left a hell of a mess, but I can do you a deal. You come and work for me and I can make this go away. The condition is you work for me. I can use a man like you, for unofficial work, the work we can’t put through the department. You could be a great asset. You sign that and it covers the last operation and words to the effect that you will never mention it, bound by the terms of the Official Secrets Act. In return we make all this disappear.”
Nick shoved the envelope in his pocket without looking at it. “Pretty worthless then considering I wanted a full pardon letter from you. You’ve come out to do a deal that suits yourself. What if I refuse?”
“Then you’d be an idiot, Nick. You’ll spend the rest of your short life of freedom on the run. I’ve got a man up along the bank. Insurance. You must know that.”
Carruthers sensed rather than saw Nick smile in the darkness. “I know that. Let’s hope he doesn’t get distracted.”
“If you’ll excuse me.” Carruthers fished in his pocket for a lighter and sparked it up. The orange flame flared briefly in the darkness and he quickly looked up only to see that Nick had retreated to the shadows. He scanned the papers Nick had given him in the flickering light of the flame. Satisfied, he snapped the lighter shut and dropped it back in his pocket.
“Very good. You’re reliable, Nick, and that’s good. It seems I underestimated you at first, but you’ve done better than I expected.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and now you can be an important asset for me, we can work together.”
Nick stepped forward. “Why did you have Clara killed?”
Carruthers snorted. “Nick, I told you, she was playing you. I’m sorry, but she was a spy, quite high up. We’d known for a while. With the operation folding up, we had to neutralise her. You know how it is.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, old boy. This is a rough game. Everyone’s expendable.”
Nick stepped forward. “What about Ramona?”
“What about her?”
“You asked me to find out who killed her.”
“So I did. Look, Nick, forget that. She’s not important anymore. It doesn’t matter. She was a means to an end, a catalyst to blow this open. Her death brought you in and look how it’s ended up. Jolly well. We’ve recovered all the information, smashed the spy ring. You’re a hero, of sorts.”
“Thanks. A hero on a wanted list.”
“Like I said, we can fix that. You can work with us now. A new start.”
“You’re not interested in who killed Ramona even though that was what you asked me to find out?” Nick persisted.
“Not really. She was expendable. She served her purpose.”
“I see. And these documents you were so eager to get your hands on, they’re of national importance to British security are they?”
Carruthers sighed. “Look, Nick, I know I didn’t keep you in the picture, but don’t believe whatever you were fed by whoever. God! Lucia? Is that it? A woman who worked for the highest bidder? This stuff is vital to British national security.”
Something about Carruthers’ tone didn’t ring true to Nick, but maybe it wouldn’t have even if the man was telling the truth. His mind was made up.
“Is that all? I have to be going. We can meet tomorrow and I can brief you, bring you into the fold.” He looked impatiently at his watch.
“Sure. Tell me. You know about Vienna?” Something in Nick’s tone stilled Carruthers and he peered intently into the darkness, trying to make out Nick’s face, but he could see nothing. He shrugged.
“I know what’s in the reports. You disobeyed orders, took down three high-ranking enemy operatives you were ordered not to and let your senior officer wander into a trap in which he was killed as a result of your recklessness. There were grave political repercussions, not to mention security concerns that still reverberate now.”
“The report’s not quite right actually,” Nick replied. “I killed the enemy operatives then I killed my handler. You see he’d betrayed me, hung me out to dry. It was all covered up of course, terribly bad form. That’s why they let me go.”
Carruthers swallowed nervously and started to back away. Something in Nick’s monotone delivery was spooking him. “I see.” His tone was uncertain. “Well, that’s in the past.”
“Is it? History can teach you some important lessons. You see, I know who killed Ramona.” It hung in the air between them.
“Nick,” Carruthers said in a warning tone tinged with panic. “This will do no good. I told you, this business. I have a man up there–”
“So you said. I called in a favour. I think we’re alone.”
“Nick, you know how this is...”
“I do. Everyone’s expendable: Stephen, Clara, me…”
“That’s right,” Carruthers began, nervously filling the pause.
“You.”
Carruthers didn’t feel anything at first. The movement had been faster than a blink of an eye; it took his brain a second to register the pain of his sliced throat, the warm gush of blood, squirting forth. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. His legs started to buckle.
“Goodbye, Carruthers,” Nick said flatly.
He tipped Carruthers into the canal. The man splashed in, water filling his lungs from the gash across his throat, his blood pumping out all the while. Nick stood and watched dispassionately as he weakly flailed in the water for a few seconds. Quickly the movement became more feeble and he stopped. The body floated face-down on the water and the night was still and silent again, the perfect reflection of the canal broken only by the lifeless body suspended in the inky black.
Nick turned, pulled up his collars and walked away. Somewhere there was a bar with a drink with his name on it and he could try to forget. All over again…
THE END
Read the beginning of the next Nick Valentine adventure:
Storm After Sunset
The rain throbbed against the grimy windows of the pub, the flickering yellow of the weak electric bulbs fighting a losing battle with the gloom of the tired wood panelled interior. Nick didn't look up from his drink as a shadow moved across the pockmarked surface of his table. He simply swirled the ice in his glass and smiled to himself.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Looks like you already have." Nick tipped the glass to his mouth and drained it, his eyes locked onto the older mans without blinking, "Be a sport and get me another whiskey first though. On the rocks. No water."
An angry frown flickered across the other man's face and he tensed briefly before exhaling and nodding, turning toward the bar.
Nick watched him go, his hand still thoughtfully twirling the empty glass on the table top. He gave a heavy sigh, acknowledging the sinking feeling in his gut. Whatever this was it wouldn't be good.
The man shuffled back carefully holding two whiskeys, he placed one on the table and sat opposite Nick, studying him carefully.
Nick raised his new glass, "Cheers," he murmured, the words barely audible over the gentle hum of chatter in the pub.
The man didn't drink, but shook his head and put his glass down, colouring slightly.
"Christ! Nick, you don't even look surprised to see me, and all you can say is 'cheers'?"
Nick shrugged, "What would you like me to say?"
The man sat back in his chair and fixed a steely gaze on Nick. Nick took a other sip of his Scotch, savouring the gentle burning in his throat. After all, it could be his last. He turned his head and cast his gaze around the pub. A wry smile crossed his lips.
"I see you didn't come alone." He murmured dryly.
"Of course I didn't come bloody alone!" The older man exploded, banging a fist on the table as he did so. Startled drinkers looked in their direction and the older man took a deep breath, then a sip of his own drink. "Of course I didn't come alone," he rep
eated softly, I'm head of Section, I rarely go anywhere on business on my own, let alone when I come to meet an ex-operative who murdered one of my men."
"Ah," Nick said. "Have you come to take me in?"
"If I wanted you taken in you'd be in already."
"I know, I've seen your men watching me."
"Well, that's something at least, I was beginning to worry that you'd lost your touch. But if you know we're watching you, why are you here?"
"Hiding in plain site, we were taught it in training you know. Thank you." Nick raised his glass.
"You know you can't walk out of here don't you?"
"I do now, but I don't think that's why you came to see me."
The older man laid his palms flat on the table, "Look, Nick, what happened, it was a mess. I know what it cost you personally, and I'm sorry."
"You know nothing about what it cost me personally!" Hissed Nick with a sudden venom that made the other man start. "I lost my fiance, my best friend, my home and ended up a fugitive clearing up your mess."
"And clear it up you did, I've had to go to the Home Secretary to get the police called off the trail of bodies you left around Soho. Officially, we've cleared it up for you. Actually you did us a favour with our officer Carruthers. We didn't know he'd been turned.
Nick nodded, "And now you're returning the favour by telling me it's all been smoothed over. I can go back to my perfect life as thanks for terminating one of your rogue agents. Thanks, only I don't believe you. They'll be something else."
The old man looked at Nick thoughtfully for a moment, then spoke slowly as if choosing his words. "I always liked you Nick, you were effective. You didn't ask questions, you got the job done. I stuck my neck out for you, and I have done again over this. I realise," he spread his hands, "that you might think you don't owe us anything.
Nick gave a snort.
"And I wouldn't blame you for thinking that, but the truth is, we need you again Nick, we need a man with your talents."
"I thought the world was at peace and all rosy." Nick said dryly, "That's what the papers say."
"The papers say what we want them to say. Something you can be thankful for," the man wagged a finger at Nick, "but no, it's not rosy, you saw what happened in Spain, Mussolini's running around Africa like a mad man and Hitler's weeks away from invading Poland. Worse, we're not in any position to stop him."
"Maybe it's not our war this time." Nick said quietly.
"Oh, it's our war all right, it's just we're not ready and the other side are. It's going to be a mess for quite a while."
"But you didn't come here to take me in, or to regale my with your opinions on world politics did you?"
"No Nick, I didn't." He fished in his overcoat pocket and pulled out a manilla envelope that he slid across the table to Nick. "The keys to your flat, and an advance on your salary."
Nick looked at the envelope without touching it, "I suppose an official pardon and a letter from the Home Secretary absolving me of all blame in what happened is too much to ask for?"
The older man's lips pursed, his jaw clenched, "We could never have anything so," he paused, frowning, "official, linking you back to us. The police won't bother you, but we need you on the outside, officially, you're still a pariah and not connected to us. That's the way it's got to be."
Nick reached forward to pick up the envelope, the man grabbed his hand and locked gazes with him, "I am truly sorry for what happened."
"Yeah," Nick pulled his hand away brusquely and stuffed the envelope in his own jacket pocket without looking at it, "What's the job."
The old man stood up and smiled, "You're going to Spain. I'll contact you next week to brief you, I suggest you get your affairs in order." He turned and started to walk away, before halting and turning back, "Oh and Nick, please, stop drinking will you."
"Sure," Nick toasted his glass to the man then emptied it down his throat. The man shook his head and walked out without looking back.
Nick sat and stared at the door for a long time, then at his empty glass. Catching the eye of the barman he signalled for another. It was time to drown that sinking feeling in his gut.
Storm Before Sunset will be out soon...
