Christopher Brookmyre (18 page)

Bett's instructions, often infuriatingly elliptical, had been extremely clear on one thing: she was not to intervene in any situation involving the target unless, as a last resort, it was the only way of preserving the mission. Nonetheless, her first reaction upon seeing this situation unfold was to grab her mobile. There was a two-button speed-dial combination that would get her Bett immediately on a dedicated line that he kept clear for when any of them absolutely needed to speak to him. She now had confirmation that another party most definitely was involved, and they were in the process of abducting a three-year-old, either as bait or leverage, proving them to be as direct and ruthless as Willis had implied.

Her finger hovered over the keypad as she watched Fleming's mother dash across the cul-de-sac, the kidnapper pulling out of a parking space further along the lane. She remembered Bett's typically stern advice regarding the speed-dial 'White Line', as he called it.

'As a rule, in any given situation, the first three times you want to use it, you'll already know the answer. Don't waste my time.'

Lex watched Jane Fleming's car drive across the kidnapper's path and stop dead, then moments later the black Vectra buried its nose in the Honda's flank. She put the phone down. She did already know the answer. Things were nowhere near last-resort stage, particularly if Bett was right about this

'specialist'; and as she knew only too well, Bett was always right. His description echoed around her as she remained in the hire car and witnessed the duel unfold. A man began trotting after the Vectra as it reversed. Fleming ran across the tarmac to push him clear as the car shot forward again. 95

Someone fearless . . .

The woman grabbed something silver from the bystander - looked like scissors - and began digging it into one of the car's tyres. Moments later she would be using a child's pushchair to smash the window and bludgeon the kidnapper.

Someone who can adapt and improvise . . .

With the Vectra revving up for another attempt to barge past the Honda, she managed to roll it back across the path, despite the encumbrance of an airbag.

Someone resourceful and cunning . . .

Then she dived clear just in time, bouncing off of the Civic's roof and down on to the tarmac, where she didn't even dust herself down before charging back on to the offensive.

Stoical in the face of pain and danger . . .

With the Vectra limping backwards like a wounded beast, the kidnapper climbed out, holding a hunting knife. Fleming faced him down, brandishing a pair of barber's scissors.

Ruthlessly uncompromising in pursuit of the objective . . .

'I'll kill you,' Lex heard, the words reverberating around the entire area with a mortal conviction. 'I swear I'll kill you.'

. . . and utterly merciless in eliminating anyone who stands in the way.
Chalk another one up to that son-of-a-bitch: it looked a hell of a good basket.

Lex watched the kidnapper emerge from the path and into the supermarket car park. He had a briefcase in one hand - couldn't leave evidence of his true purpose when he bailed - and was already on his phone, calling in the bad news. She could see him scanning the cars as he jogged. He needed an out fast and jacking a passing driver was his best shot in the short-term. Lex realised that a valuable opportunity was presenting itself, but it was way, way outside of mission parameters. It was a chance to get a handle on who they were up against, but would only come at the expense of dropping the target. This window would not be open for long, she knew. The question of deviating from the mission was ordinarily a no-brainer, but nobody, not even Bett, could have anticipated a potential break like this. She reached again for the phone. Again, her finger stalled above the keypad. Again, she already knew the answer. The target wasn't going anywhere, and anyway, Lex had already made the principal drop back at that other supermarket. She slipped the nine-millimetre into a pocket on the inside of the door, put the car into gear and pulled away.

In a few seconds she was parallel to him, one row distant, as he jogged between the lines of parked cars. She descended the passenger-side window with a touch of a button.

'Get in, now,' she called out.

He looked around to see where the voice had come from.

'
Allez, allez
,' she insisted impatiently.

At that, he bolted for the Renault and pulled at the front door, which he found to be locked.

'In the back, you fucking idiot, and keep down.'

He clambered hurriedly across the rear seats and pulled the door closed as Lex accelerated towards the exit.

'
Et qui etes-vous
?'

he asked, nestling uncomfortably across the rear

footwells.

'In English, dipshit,' she answered, figuring they wouldn't send someone who couldn't speak it. She knew also that it was harder to lie in another language; or harder to hide it, at least.

'I said who are you?' he revised.

'I'm back-up. I'm the Seventh goddamn Cavalry. Certain parties weren't so confident you could pull this off without a hitch.'

'What parties?'

'Informed parties, it looks like.'

'What's your name?'

'That's on a need-to-know basis, dude, and, right now, you don't need to know. In fact it's best if you don't.'

Lex negotiated the car park's one-way system quickly but without any conspicuous haste. She kept her eyes on the road, but did grab the occasional glance at her passenger, who remained curled across the cramped channel. She wheeled around the roundabout, then accelerated as she finally hit open road.

A glance down behind her revealed that he was no longer on the floor. She suddenly felt cold steel held across her neck.

'Now, how about you tell me who the hell you are, yes?' he demanded.

'Look, I gotta warn you, driving isn't my specialty, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't put me off, okay? Less of the fucking theatricals, jeez.'

Still he kept the knife in place, pushing it a little harder against her skin.

'Answer me,' he growled, a throaty hiss.

'I told you. I'm back-up, and my name is strictly need-to-goddamn-know. You want credentials? Look in the briefcase on the front seat. The folder,' she directed.

He tried grasping for it with the knife still in place, but didn't have the reach. Lex tutted, like this was all a real drag to her. She reached a hand across and opened the dossier, revealing photographs of Fleming, his parents, his sister and her husband and kids.

'Okay,' she said, 'so I'm working the Fleming job, you're working the Fleming job. Or rather you're fucking up the Fleming job.'

He withdrew the knife as he leaned over to try and pick up the folder, but she slammed shut the briefcase.

'Hands off,
ami
. You don't have that kind of clearance, believe me, and I ain't telling you any shit that I'm not certain you're authorised to hear. So how about we establish
your
credentials, find out what you do know and then I'll decide whether it's worth us trying to help you redeem this situation. We'll start with where you're headed.'

'This way is good,' he said, settling back into the seat. He looked slightly relieved, slightly pissed off, which was what she wanted. He was grateful that someone had saved his ass from the authorities, but was beginning to contemplate that no one could save it from his bosses. 'I have someone waiting. We were supposed to change cars. It's secluded. Woodland. About three miles.'

'Then you'll meet as planned and we'll work out the next move from there. The important thing right now is to get clear of this mess.'

'
Oui
,' he grumbled.

'So what's with the big blade? Don't they trust you guys with guns?'

'We had to move at short notice. Can't take guns on a flight and the alternative was to drive. Takes too long.'

'Plus you figured you wouldn't need 'em, huh?' she chided. 'So when did they scramble you? Yesterday? Or have you been on this from the start? Was it you guys went for Fleming at his apartment? Made quite a mess.'

Lex checked the rear-view to see his expression. It was irritated.

'Someone else handled that. Our job was just the child, after they didn't deliver.'

'So who's supposed to bring Fleming in once you've got the kid?'

'I don't know. Lucien, I guess. It was he who went to Chassignan.'

'Lucien?' she bluffed, turning around and taking her eyes off the road for dramatic effect. 'God help us,' she continued, braking as she approached another roundabout. She was actually finding it easier to handle driving on the left during this discussion because it kept her from thinking too much about what she was doing. 'Please don't tell me Lucien's supposed to bring in the other stuff too.'

'What other stuff?'

'What this whole thing is about. The goods, man.'

'As far as I know, Fleming
is
what this whole thing is about.'

'Hmmm. Well, yes and no.'

'You know different?' he asked, sitting up.

'Keep your head down, man. I can't discuss it, but it's to do with the Marledoq materials, and I don't know how much you're authorised to hear. I mean, have you seen the video files, for instance?'

'Jesus, yes. Of course.
Everybody
's seen the video files.'

'Well, exactly. I can only talk about what everybody already knows, so what's the point, right? Unless . . . hey, what name do you call your boss, the main man?'

'You don't know who my boss is? I thought you said . . . '

'I know who your fucking boss is, I asked what name you call him. He has more than one. What you call him denotes your level of clearance; it's shorthand code.'

'I call him Parrier. And I've never heard of this different name shit.'

'Which, unfortunately, tells me exactly what level you're cleared to. Sorry.'

'Hey, who the hell are you anyway?' he snarled, sitting up again. 'You look like you're just out of fucking high school and you're talking to me like--'

'Yeah, yeah. Just remember who came to whose rescue back there if you need a sense of perspective. If you had done your job properly, you wouldn't have even needed to find out I existed. But we're both here now, so let's just deal. Hey, we're coming up on another roundabout. Straight on?'

'No, right,' he told her, looking up again.

She turned and accelerated on to a dual carriageway.

'Where the hell's secluded around here?' she asked.

'Woods. You'll see. Left at the next roundabout, and then another mile. One minute it's town, the next it's countryside.'

Lex drove on, holding in the left-hand lane despite being stuck behind a slow-moving dump truck. A silence began to grow between them, which she knew would make her uneasy. So far she'd succeeded in practising what Bett had taught her about situations like this, the first trick being to get the other party to justify himself to you and establish
his
credentials, rather than the other way around.

The second trick was to keep him talking, preferably answering questions, so that he couldn't dwell too much on who you were and how little you were giving back.

'Shit, what a mess,' she said, shaking her head. 'I don't think there's been a video clip that's caused such a stir since Pammy and Tommy, huh?'

'No kidding,' he agreed grumpily. 'And you're asking why I'm carrying a knife?' he added archly.

'Point taken,' Lex said, bluffing that she had any idea what his point could possibly be.

As he had indicated, the buildings and houses along the carriageway soon petered out into countryside. A left turn took them up a potholed side road towards woodland, then a further turn between two no entry signs brought them on to a rutted single track winding uphill and deeper into the trees. It was secluded, all right. Dim, claustrophobic, secret. A place for shameful deeds. Lex started to feel sick. She thought of that little girl who should have been in the back seat of the guy's car at this point, but that wasn't what was doing it.

They came to a clearing, barely more than a passing place, really, but wide enough to accommodate two cars and the pile of stripped, narrow pine trunks that lay to the right of the track. There was a dark blue Ford sitting motionless ahead, dull and treacherously anonymous. The figure behind the wheel got out as the Renault approached.

Lex stopped the car ten yards short. This was where it got tricky. Stringing two guys along with a charade like this was a lot more than just twice as difficult. Besides, the disadvantage of a bluff based on superiority of rank was that she had to give the impression she already knew all of the information she was able to elicit, making it all the harder to pry without raising suspicion. Information, Bett had frequently impressed upon all of them, was instantly devalued the moment the enemy knew you had it.

'Okay, here's what's gonna happen,' she told her passenger as she killed the engine. 'I gotta make a quick call. While I'm doing that, you go fill your buddy in on who I am so we don't have to go through all the same shit again.'

'Sure,' he grunted, climbing out of the back seat.

Lex reached for her mobile for the third time. Yet again, she already knew the answer; she'd known the answer the second she rolled the window down and told this asshole to get in her car, but she dialled the number anyway. She was prepared to do a lot of things for Bett, but one of them wasn't sparing him the burden of complicity in this. She wanted to hear him say it, wanted him to explicitly speak the words. Five hundred miles away from this shit, it was the least the fucker could do.

He answered in less than five seconds. She explained the situation in less than ten.

'Execute them,' he said. 'Put the bodies in the car. Burn it.'

The line went dead.

Monster.

Fucking monster. That was what he was, and what he made you. Lex looked ahead through the windscreen. Her passenger was standing next to his partner, an older man with close-cropped grey hair, also in an inconspicuous business suit. The younger was gesticulating, miming what had befallen him at the play-house place. The older man cast a couple of glances Lex's way, but she'd made sure not to catch his eye. Casualness was her disguise and her shield. She retrieved the nine-millimetre from the pocket in the door and tucked it into the rear waistband of her trousers, the silencer attachment nosing between the tops of her buttocks. She flapped at her jacket to ensure it covered the handgrip, then got out of the car and walked towards them. The older man turned first, inviting her into an ongoing discussion about how they planned to proceed. He seemed intent to impress upon her both his seniority in the pairing and his initiative in taking matters forward. Either way, he was taking her at face value because he assumed anything else would waste time and lose him points with people further up the chain.