The Game Page 14

  ‘I didn’t doubt you for a second. What about the industrial site?’

  ‘Owned by a Swiss real estate developing corporation. They’re going to build condos on it. The textile plant they demolished belonged to some industrialist whose business took a nosedive when the banks did the same. They’re clean. Rich people clean, if you know what I’m getting at.’

  They were quiet for a minute while they walked past a crowd drinking on the pavement outside a pub. Pint and wine glasses rested on the pub’s broad windowsills.

  The next street was quiet and Muir continued: ‘As predicted, we couldn’t trace the Makarov to Leeson. Like you said it was Cold War era and commissioned by the KGB a few years before the collapse. It sat with about a thousand others in crates in a warehouse outside of Minsk for a couple of decades, gathering dust until they vanished.’

  ‘Quite a magic trick for a thousand pistols.’

  ‘You got that right. Especially when the crates of AKs and RPGs they were stored with disappeared too. Coincidentally not long after a Russian multinational bought shares in the company that manages the warehouse and several others like it, which in turn is owned by a very unpleasant Minsk mafia crew. ATF is all over it because one of those rifles turned up in downtown LA, but they’re being stonewalled by Moscow because that Russian multinational just happens to have a guy called Vladimir Kasakov on their board of directors. You heard of him?’

  Victor shook his head.

  ‘Heavyweight arms dealing scumbag. Literally heavyweight. Word on the street was that his business was in turmoil or he’d retired, but whatever. People always want guns. That’s never going to change, I suppose. So, how your driver got hold of the Makarov is anyone’s guess. I’ve passed the serial number to a friend inside ATF and they’ll add it to their file and in return if anything comes up, I’ll be first to hear about it. I know a little more about the driver.’

  ‘Hold that thought.’

  A pair of police officers appeared ahead, rounding the corner at the end of the block about twenty metres away. They were both male, both in their thirties, both of useful dimensions. They wore standard-issue stab resistant vests but as they weren’t armed response officers, the only weapons they carried were truncheons and mace.

  One spoke into a shoulder-mounted radio, and all Victor read on the man’s lips was some code he didn’t understand.

  Victor glanced around. Alleys led off both sides of the street. Foot traffic was light. No cars passed. No other police presence.

  Muir registered his reaction, and whispered, ‘Are they here for you?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘They’re alone. Just on patrol.’

  ‘Evenin’, ma’am,’ one officer said to Muir as they passed one another.

  When they had reached the end of the block, Muir glanced back over her shoulder to check the two officers were out of earshot, then turned to Victor and said, ‘That was tense.’

  ‘Was it?’

  ‘What would you have done if they were there for you?’

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  She gave him a look.

  ‘The driver,’ Victor prompted.

  ‘Her name really is Francesca Leone. She was born in Italy but she’s what you would call a citizen of the world. I’d struggle to name all the countries she’s lived in. She’s thirty-seven years old, from a wealthy family, and a graduate of the University of Florence. Art history, if you’re interested. But what she’s been doing for the last fifteen years, aside from globetrotting, is a little sketchy. She’s been a painter and sculptor, she was a curator in a gallery in NYC, she’s modelled, been married a couple of times. She never stays in one thing in one place for very long, and there are large swathes of seeming inactivity in her resume. If I had to label her, I’d call her a nomad.’

  ‘Criminal record?’

  ‘She was arrested for possession of cannabis resin in Munich twelve years ago, but no charges were pressed. Daddy’s lawyers took care of that one. He’s dead now and she inherited a tidy sum to help her through the grieving process.’

  Victor thought for a moment. ‘How is Varina Theodorakis involved?’

  ‘She’s not. She reported her taxi missing before you’d even landed. The plates had been changed. She doesn’t know anything.’

  ‘And Leeson himself?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nada. There are quite a few Robert Leesons hailing from the US and the UK, but none of them were in Budapest at that time or own a Rolls-Royce Phantom. Do you know how much one of those costs?’

  ‘A lot.’

  Muir’s cheeks puffed as she blew out a breath. ‘And the rest. There aren’t that many of them out there, thankfully, and I’m in the process of compiling a list of the owners, but the kind of people with the money to buy one also like their privacy. You haven’t asked me how Procter’s doing yet?’

  ‘Why would I?’

  Muir raised her eyebrows and didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘Whoever the target is, he must be a major one for Leeson to go through all this to find the right man for the job.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘But what I don’t understand is why a man as careful to cover his tracks as Leeson would risk a face to face with an assassin he’s never met. It doesn’t fit with his MO.’

  ‘It fits exactly with the kind of man he is. It was the only way to truly know if Kooi could be trusted to do the job he needs doing. Leeson knew enough about him from the contracts in Yemen and Pakistan to confirm his operational skills, but he needed a measure of Kooi’s personality. He wanted to see exactly how he reacted when asked to kill Francesca there and then, and sitting opposite Kooi was the only guaranteed way to see if he passed the test. It wasn’t just about yes or no, but how Kooi responded. From Leeson’s perspective it’s preferable to hire someone who knows his face but won’t get caught than someone he’s never met who gets picked up by the authorities two minutes after the target is dead. Or two minutes before. He couldn’t have got the same level of insight any other way. If Kooi had agreed to kill Francesca, Leeson would have known he couldn’t be relied on, and would have had his marksman execute him. Nice and clean, no comeback, and he looks for someone else. But I passed the test and Leeson’s still clean because he knows I’m trustworthy.’

  ‘Except you’re not.’

  Victor nodded. ‘Except I’m not.’

  ‘Trust aside, I’m not sure I’m convinced with the reasoning. It still seems too much of a risk, but I can’t justify it any other way, so I guess I have to agree.’

  ‘There is another reason.’

  She read his look and stiffened slightly. ‘Stan?’

  ‘Kooi didn’t fulfil the contract in Yemen exactly how he was meant to,’ Victor explained. ‘It was meant to be a suicide just like the one in Pakistan – slit wrists – but Stanley Charters was too good and Kooi didn’t pull it off as planned. That made Leeson doubt Kooi’s suitability. He wanted an explanation. He needed to hear it from Kooi’s mouth. He needed to see his face while he explained.’

  ‘Then I don’t know how you sold yourself with that mark against Kooi.’

  ‘Neither do I. And it presents us with a significant problem.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it shows that Leeson didn’t want to hire just any suitable killer. He wanted to hire Kooi. Specifically him, so he was willing to overlook the Charters snafu.’

  ‘So what did Kooi have about him that made Leeson so keen to use him instead of someone else even though he made a mistake?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Victor admitted, ‘but we need to work it out before Leeson brings it up. Otherwise, this is all over.’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  There had been a time when the humble public telephone was never more than a street or two away in any western city. Though those days were long gone, they hadn’t yet disappeared entirely. The next morning Victor found a pay phone near Charing Cross station and inserted a handful of coins into the slot, punching in the number w
ith the knuckle of his right index finger.

  Muir had requested to be present for the call. She’d wanted it played through a speakerphone, and recorded and traced. Victor had politely declined.

  Electronic blips and clicks sounded through the receiver before the dial tone began. It rang for five seconds before the line connected.

  A male voice he didn’t recognise asked, ‘How old was the Scotch?’

  ‘Twenty-four years.’

  ‘Which seat did you sit in?’

  ‘Right side rear.’

  Silence. It lasted eighteen seconds.

  Then Leeson’s voice said, ‘How nice to speak to you again, Mr Kooi.’

  ‘Pleasure is all mine.’

  ‘Thank you so much for calling.’

  ‘No problem,’ Victor said. ‘But I didn’t think I would be hearing from you again after how we parted company.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Please accept my apologies for the abrupt nature of that conversation’s ending.’

  ‘No problem,’ Victor said again. ‘I don’t imagine you are used to people saying no to you.’

  ‘Very true, Mr Kooi. Though there are salient facts you are not privy to at this moment that affected my response. I shall explain all in good time. But before we reach that point I do hope there are no hard feelings between us.’

  ‘I’m a hard man to offend. And besides, I make sure my professional life has no bearing on my emotional state. And vice versa.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Leeson asked, and Victor detected there was more to the question than just the obvious.

  ‘No hard feelings,’ Victor assured Leeson as he watched the world outside the phone booth. Not for curiosity’s sake, but because a phone booth presented the kind of confinement and risk Victor preferred to avoid.

  ‘Tremendous,’ Leeson said. ‘I’m so pleased to hear you say that, Mr Kooi, because I would like to offer you employment.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘You don’t seem particularly surprised to learn I want to hire your services.’

  ‘Like you,’ Victor replied, ‘I’m good at hiding what I’m really thinking.’

  Leeson chuckled. ‘Touché.’

  A series of horns sounded in the street. A black cab had performed an illegal U-turn, blocking traffic going in the opposite direction in order to pick up a fare.

  ‘What’s the job?’ Victor asked.

  ‘I prefer not to discuss such delicate matters on the telephone, as I’m sure you can appreciate.’

  ‘Yet we’re speaking on one now.’

  ‘I thought it both necessary and polite to communicate with you directly, so I might assure you of my intentions. I doubt you would have agreed to another faraway meeting after how the first ended. And emails can be so very impersonal when one doesn’t want to leave a detailed record of intent.’

  Victor inserted some more coins. The call charges for a foreign mobile number were rapidly draining his credit. ‘Where would you like to meet this time?’

  ‘I thought perhaps you might like to suggest somewhere.’

  ‘So I can be assured of your intentions?’

  Another chuckle. ‘Something of that ilk, yes. How would you feel about somewhere hot?’

  ‘The ambient temperature is perhaps the least important factor to me.’

  ‘Then why don’t we get some sun while we talk? I could use a little colour.’

  ‘Sure.’ He paused as if he needed to think. ‘How about Gibraltar?’

  ‘An especially fine choice.’

  ‘Glad you approve. How about next Tuesday?’

  ‘As you decided upon the location, I would prefer to elect a date and time.’ He paused briefly. ‘If that is agreeable, of course.’

  ‘I have no objection. But I’ll need twenty-four hours’ notice.’

  ‘Noted,’ Leeson said. ‘I look forward to doing business together, Mr Kooi. Goodbye.’

  The line disconnected.

  Muir waited in the dinosaur hall at the Natural History Museum in central London. For a while Victor watched her and those who came and went through the exhibits, paying particular attention to unaccompanied men and women who were neither young nor old. There were a lot of tourists and families, but no one who he made as surveillance. He hadn’t expected Muir to bring anyone, but he would never stop checking.

  She took her time, reading every card, examining each exhibit because he’d told her where to wait but hadn’t specified an exact time. She was early. He had been earlier.

  A case of fossilised eggs had captured Muir’s genuine interest and his reflection in the display’s glass protector informed her of his approach. She acted as though she hadn’t seen him and he approved of the attempt at deception. He did nothing to let her know she’d seen him only because he’d allowed her to, because he wanted her to continue building an inaccurate opinion of him.

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  She turned, and acted as though a little surprised. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Are you enjoying the exhibits?’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ She put her elbows to her stomach and pulled in her forearms to her chest, clawing her hands in an impression of a Tyrannosaurus rex. ‘I love all that roar-roar stuff.’

  She surprised him. ‘What are your thoughts on the hypothesis that the T. rex was a scavenger, not a predator?’

  ‘I was kidding.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re a dinosaur nerd?’

  ‘I have an interest in natural history.’

  She smiled and gave him a doubting look. ‘Keep telling yourself that. I bet you had the dino lunchbox and everything.’

  He ignored her and glanced at a procession of schoolchildren filing into the hall.

  ‘Let’s move on.’

  Victor took her into a wildlife photography exhibition for which there was a charge for entry and hence fewer people. The lighting was dim so that the illuminated photographs could be better appreciated. They were almost uniformly spectacular, if the winning shot was uninspiring – a political, instead of an aesthetic choice. He took her to a position from which he could watch the entrance to see who followed. He recounted the phone call with Leeson.

  ‘He’s still being cautious,’ Muir said when he’d finished.

  ‘He may want to hire me, but he doesn’t trust me.’

  ‘Is there going to be another test?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. He may not trust me as an individual, but he trusts I can do whatever it is he needs doing.’

  ‘Any idea yet who the target might be?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I don’t like the idea of you meeting him again without knowing what you’re walking into.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because we’ve pushed our luck once already.’

  ‘I don’t subscribe to the concept.’

  ‘Of luck? Then call it whatever you want. I’m talking about factors outside our control here. I assume you subscribe to those?’

  He nodded and said, ‘Leeson had the opportunity to kill me in Budapest when I stepped out of his limousine. He didn’t take it, and that was the best chance he’s ever going to get.’

  ‘If you’re sure you want to go through with this.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Okay, good. Because I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to.’

  ‘You couldn’t make me.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. I’m not going to ask you to do anything you don’t want to do. Better? Are you always this pedantic or am I a special case?’

  ‘I always prefer to be exact when my life is on the line.’

  ‘Okay, I can appreciate that,’ she said, nodding. ‘I’m just a little tense, you know.’

  Victor nodded as if he knew. ‘I’ll arrive in Gibraltar tomorrow.’

  ‘You could end up waiting there a long time. Leeson didn’t indicate when he’d meet you, right?’

  ‘He didn’t, but it will be soon.’

&nb
sp; ‘Why do you say that? He doesn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry.’

  ‘He’s not improvising here. He’s working to a specific timeline. He’s gone to a lot of trouble to make sure Kooi is the right man for the job. If he waits too long his perfect assassin might get caught, or killed, or take some other job. Besides, if time wasn’t a factor he would have sent Kooi on another contract first after he failed to make Charters’ death look like a suicide. Leeson isn’t the kind of man to accept less than perfect if he can help it.’