by Rob Sinclair
But the initial ruse was over now. Everyone in the room knew that there would be no business transaction taking place today. Djourou smiled. His little accomplice began to laugh and Logan glared at him. But he just shrugged his shoulders and carried on laughing, the shotgun still held high.
‘One chance, John Burrows,’ Djourou said. ‘Tell me who you are and how you found me, or I’ll kill you myself. And please don’t think that I’ll make it a pleasant experience. We wouldn’t be able to carry you all the way down those stairs in one piece. I’m sure you know what I mean.’
‘I could tell you who I am,’ Logan said, doing his best not to betray any emotion, ‘but then I’d have to kill you.’
Logan cracked a smile.
The room went silent again. A deathly silence.
Djourou frowned, then smiled, then frowned again. He looked like he wasn’t sure whether Logan was serious or not.
Logan carried on smiling back at him.
Djourou had placed Logan’s gun on the sofa next to him. His right hand was caressing it. Logan could see that the safety was still on. He’d made sure of that before he’d handed it over and Djourou hadn’t yet taken it off. No matter what was about to happen, that would at least give him a couple of seconds.
‘All I want is information on who Vincent was working for,’ Logan said. ‘Who you are working for.’
Djourou shrugged, and Logan took the gesture as encouragement to carry on.
‘Are you and your two commandos really sure you want to die over this?’ Logan said. ‘I’m just after some information, then I’ll go. I’m not the police. You must have at least figured that out by now.’
Djourou’s hand twitched. Then he made the move. His fingers reached around the butt of the Beretta and he cursed as he lifted it up off the sofa.
But Logan had already prepped himself for the moment. Long before Djourou had gone for the gun he’d shifted his weight so that he could spring into action at the right moment. He dived forward to the right, where the man with the shotgun was standing. The little guy was too slow to react and didn’t even attempt to move out of the way as Logan tumbled into him. The gun went off as the two men fell to the floor. Pellets from the shot flew up into the ceiling.
The little man was no match for Logan’s size and strength. With his foe still holding onto the gun, Logan manoeuvred the barrel. He pointed it towards the machete man, who was almost upon him, pulling back the blade in an almighty arc. Only a few seconds later and Logan would have been sliced in two. But as the machete came down towards Logan’s head, he pumped on the shotgun, loading the barrel. He squeezed on the little man’s trigger finger. The shot hit the machete man in the centre of his chest. A dozen or more holes opened up as he was propelled backwards.
Logan heard Djourou pull on the trigger of the Beretta. But he hadn’t released the safety and nothing happened. Logan was still on top of the little man. He elbowed him in the side of the skull. Once. Twice. Three times. The blows came in quick succession, knocking him out cold. The man loosened his grip on the shotgun enough for Logan to prise it away. Still on the ground, he pumped the barrel once more, loading another shot.
He pointed the gun at Djourou.
At the same time, he heard the click as Djourou unlatched the safety.
Taking out the two henchmen had taken just a few seconds. Not even enough time for Djourou to make a shot. The African could do nothing but look on at Logan, stunned.
But both men were now locked and loaded, their weapons pointed at their targets. It was a stalemate.
And neither man fired.
Djourou was wide-eyed. He looked scared. He obviously wasn’t used to things not going his way. Well, he’d better get used to it, Logan thought.
He got to his feet, keeping the shotgun pointed towards Djourou.
‘Who the hell are you?’ Djourou said. ‘Batard!’
The machete man groaned. He was still alive. Just. But he had enough shot in him to make sure he would stay down at least for now, if not permanently. The little man was out for the count. But he’d come round eventually. Logan wouldn’t forget about him just yet. Right now, though, his focus was on Djourou.
‘You know, that gun’s got a double-safety,’ Logan said, bluffing. ‘I don’t think you’ve released it properly.’
Djourou laughed. He obviously wasn’t completely stupid; Logan could tell that Djourou knew the claim was bullshit. But it didn’t matter. With the thought put in his head, Djourou couldn’t resist the momentary glance to double-check that he’d released the safety properly.
It was enough for Logan.
He dived to his left, firing as he fell. Djourou fired as well. But he hadn’t counted on the moving target. Logan’s shot caught Djourou just below his left knee. A dull thwack sounded as the ball bearings tore through muscle and bone. Djourou screamed in pain. He dropped his aim, clutching for his stricken limb with his free hand.
Logan was on his feet immediately. He lunged for Djourou’s gun hand. It didn’t take much to take back his Beretta. He took it in his right hand, pressing the barrel up against Djourou’s forehead.
‘So,’ Logan said, smiling. ‘Do you still want to know who I am?’
Djourou looked up at him. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. His nostrils flaring as he struggled to keep his breathing under control.
‘I’ll take that as a no,’ Logan said. ‘So let’s start with you then. Tell me about Vincent. Who introduced you? And why?’
Djourou exhaled loudly through his nostrils and stared coldly into Logan’s eyes. Logan knew he was trying to show that he wasn’t scared. But Logan wasn’t buying it. This guy was scared all right.
Logan nudged the barrel against Djourou’s forehead, as if prompting him to speak. But Djourou remained silent. He wasn’t going to give the information up easily. If he had been prepared to kill Logan over this, just like that, then chances were whoever he was protecting was someone big.
But Logan was sure he could persuade Djourou to tell him.
He pushed his knee against Djourou’s injured leg, grinding it against the open wound. Djourou shrieked in pain. But Logan didn’t let up. He kept the pressure on as Djourou’s shrill scream got louder and louder. And saw the look of defeat slowly creep into the injured man’s eyes.
‘Just give me a name. I can make this much worse for you if you don’t.’
‘Okay!’ Djourou yelled.
Logan took his knee away.
‘I’ll give you his name,’ Djourou said, panting heavily as he talked. ‘I never worked for him before. I was introduced through a mutual friend. Blakemore. Richard Blakemore. He’s English, like you.’
‘And who the hell is he?’
‘Blakemore. That’s his name.’
‘Where can I find him?’
‘I don’t know! He came to me. But I think he’s here. Somewhere near Paris.’
‘What do you know about Rabah Assad? And Youssef Selim?’
‘What?’ Djourou said, shaking his head. The panic in his voice was growing further. ‘I’ve never heard of them!’
He was lying. Everyone knew of Selim. But it didn’t matter. Logan was done here. He had what he came for.
And he’d been here too long already. There’d been four shots fired. Even if the police didn’t like coming to this part of town, Logan had to assume that they’d been called. And if that was the case, they’d be here sooner or later. He wanted to be long gone by the time they showed up.
‘Richard Blakemore?’ Logan said, putting the Beretta back into his waistband. ‘Let’s hope you’re right about that.’
As he turned to walk out of the room, he saw the look of surprise on Djourou’s face.
‘Who are you?’ Djourou shouted as Logan walked towards the front door.
He smiled. Djourou probably had no idea what had just happened to him. Logan knew exactly what he was thinking: Logan couldn’t be a cop, otherwise why wasn’t he being arrested? And if he wasn’t a co
p, then who the hell was he and why was he letting him live?
Logan stopped at the door, still smiling. ‘Like I already said. I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.’
He opened the door and left.
Chapter 16
When he left Djourou’s apartment, Logan was on a high. More through relief than anything: relief that he’d made it out of there alive. But the high was also because it had been five months since he’d been in a situation anything like that. And for the first time in that five months, he felt alive again. Like he suddenly remembered what he’d been put on this earth to do. It had all come so naturally to him again. Unlike the skipping around Paris he’d been doing the day before to no avail.
It was only as he headed back to his car that he noticed his hands were trembling. At first he thought it was just from the adrenaline of the fight. But after a few minutes, he knew that wasn’t the case. As the adrenaline wore off, the trembling didn’t stop. It actually got worse. And it wasn’t just the tremors in his hands. By the time he was back at his car, his legs felt like jelly, his head was in a spin, his stomach was churning, he felt like he was about to throw up. He was in shock. His body was reacting to what had just happened.
Logan had seen plenty of action in his time. He’d shot and killed people before – it was what he did. He was usually ready for anything. That was what he’d been trained for; that was what the JIA, his life, was all about. He’d remained calm while in the thick of it, confident that he would get out of Djourou’s apartment alive. But he just hadn’t been ready for that situation. Not mentally at least.
It had made him feel vulnerable.
It had made him feel scared.
It had made him remember the first time he’d seen a dead body.
It happened right before he’d met Mackie and joined the agency, when he was only seventeen years old. His childhood was a period he’d tried his best to forget, and over the years, with the training and the life that the JIA had given him, he’d been successful in that. He’d seen many more bodies since that day, and never felt anything like the intensity of emotion again. In fact, with each year that came and went, he’d felt less and less.
So why was it different today?
The answer was simple. From that day when he was seventeen up until a few months ago, as a result of his training, he’d spent his life on autopilot. He’d barely felt a thing; he’d become used to what he was, what he did and what he saw. But that had changed five months ago, when Youssef Selim had brought Logan back to the real world.
And after that fateful day had come the intensive physical and mental rehabilitation. That in itself had been almost as painful as his experience at the hands of Selim. At first, during his recovery, he’d felt liberated. He’d been glad to be alive. Like it was a new beginning. But then came the feelings of isolation, loneliness, guilt – a whole host of feelings that were alien to him. More than anything, hate was one of the emotions he’d now become used to. Hatred towards Selim: what he was, and what he’d done.
His heart rate built again as his mind went back to that dark period of recovery. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel to try to stop the memories. And to try to stop the trembling that had taken control of his hands. It worked, but only for a few seconds. Sweat was dripping down his forehead, but his body wasn’t overheating. He opened the window to get some air and took several deep gulps. It helped to slow his heart rate back to normal. Finally, after a few more minutes trying his best to focus his mind away from Selim, away from Djourou and everything else that was clouding his thinking, the shaking in his hands began to subside.
This is why I needed a holiday, he thought, managing a wry smile.
He banged on the steering wheel with the palms of his hand again, angry that he’d let himself get this way. That he was being so weak.
Get a grip, man.
Why was he being so pathetic? This wasn’t how Carl Logan acted. Carl Logan could handle anything.
Just get a grip.
Logan put the car into gear and drove off, fighting through the Parisian traffic back to Saint-Denis. By the time he arrived at the JIA safe house, the shaking in his hands had all but gone. But Logan was left with a feeling of betrayal. It felt like he’d betrayed who he really was by being this emotional wreck. Betrayed the life he’d led for eighteen years. Or was it the JIA that had betrayed him, for turning a seventeen-year-old boy into an emotionless killing machine? A boy who’d only really wanted protection from a world that had chewed him up and spat him out.
The Carl Logan of today was a different animal to that naive and deprived teenager. But in many ways, he was back at the beginning again. And right now, however hard it was to admit, perhaps he needed just as much emotional protection as he had back then.
Chapter 17
Johnny had only been following John Burrows for less than twenty-four hours and he already hated him. He was in a bad mood. A really bad mood. John Burrows had done a bunk on him about three hours ago. And yet, had Burrows even known he was being followed? This was all turning to shit right before Johnny’s eyes. His boss, Reggie, was going to have a field day if he found out. And if Selim found out too? Well, Johnny didn’t even want to think about what that might mean. Quite frankly, the man terrified Johnny. He wouldn’t say it to anyone, but really he just wanted this whole job to be over and done with now.
But this wasn’t the type of job you could just bail out of. At least, not if you wanted to keep your life. And all he could do now was wait by the hotel and hope for the best.
Burrows hadn’t checked out, Johnny was sure of that. But three hours ago the guy had left the hotel and walked to a car rental shop not far away. Johnny hadn’t been expecting that. And there was nothing he could do as he watched Burrows hop into a car and drive away from him. He didn’t have time to hire a car himself. Burrows would have already been long gone by the time he’d sorted out all the paperwork. Burrows must have prearranged the car and prepaid for it, as he was in and out of there in less than a minute. They were never that quick in those places. And there were no taxis in this part of town that Johnny could have hailed. Nor were there any careless scooter owners or motorcyclists whom he could knock off their bikes while they sat at traffic lights. Not like in the movies, where they just appear from nowhere the second you need to follow someone.
So Johnny had been well and truly screwed. So now he just had to sit and wait. And hope that Burrows came back. Soon. It wasn’t his fault, though. He was good at this. He’d been a policeman once. Had been a policeman for fifteen years, in fact. Until they’d booted him out. That was eight years ago. Even though his life had changed in many ways since then it still made him angry to think about it. He hadn’t done anything wrong, really. Just taken a bit of coke out of evidence every now and then for personal use. It wasn’t like he was out on the street selling it on.
That had been the key turning point in his life. Not long after that, his wife, Charlene, the bitch, had left him. It hadn’t really been a surprise. She’d been running around with one of his colleagues for six months pretty much in front of his eyes. Still, the guy wasn’t running around after he’d broken both of his legs in a freak accident not long after.
Johnny was better off without her anyway. And to be fair, he was better off out of the police. For the past six years he’d been working and living in Paris. He got paid almost twice as much as he had in the police. And the work was easier and more suited to his strengths. So it was their loss, really.
But it was days like these that brought back bad memories. Today he felt foolish, just like the day he’d found out his wife was screwing someone else. And just like back when he was still a street bobby, chasing rowdy drunken teenagers around fields. In his time in the police he’d dealt with drug dealers, with rapists, murderers even. But it was the drunk and stoned teenagers that caused him the biggest problems and the biggest embarrassments. Because there was just nothing you could do to them. They could hit
you, spit on you, run rings around you, and you couldn’t do a thing back to them. They thought they were untouchable. As far as the law was concerned they pretty much were. He’d always hated that, felt so useless. Like he was working with both arms tied behind his back.
Today felt just like that. Johnny knew what this job was about. He knew how to do it. But this John Burrows guy was starting to make him look stupid. And he hated him for that.
Johnny’s phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He took it out and looked at the caller ID. It was Reggie. Johnny groaned before answering. This was the last thing he needed.
‘Hi, Reggie.’
‘Johnny, where the fuck are you?’
Shit. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Should he tell the truth or lie? Lying might keep the boss at bay for now. But sooner or later it would come back to bite him.
‘I’m at the hotel.’
That wasn’t a lie. He didn’t have to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Not unless he was prompted.
‘And where is our good friend John Burrows?’
Double shit.
‘I don’t know. I’m waiting for him to come back. He hired a car and went off this morning. I lost him.’
‘You lost him? What the … You lost him? And how long ago was that?’
‘Nine o’clock.’
‘Fuck me sideways. Just tell me one thing, Johnny. At what point were you planning on telling me this?’
Johnny didn’t know what to say. He was pretty sure Reggie already knew the answer: he hadn’t been planning on telling him at all.
‘I don’t know,’ Johnny said.
‘Okay, this is going nowhere,’ Reggie said. ‘I already know you lost Burrows. Do you know how I know that?’
‘No.’
‘Because not long ago a very good friend of the man who’s paying me, the man who’s therefore paying you, was visited by one John Burrows.’
‘What? Who?’ Johnny felt himself lose a few inches. Maybe he really had fucked up this time.
