by KERRY BARNES
The small room to the side door of the building contained the toilets. As Zara’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness, she managed to find the handle and squeezed inside. Then she pulled her phone from her pocket. She had to hide any light just for the moment in case she was being watched. She looked at the time: it was now eight o’clock. Her hand shook, and her heart was punching her in the chest. Get a grip, Zara, she told herself. Victor should be here in thirty minutes. She wouldn’t be alone.
As her body moved rhythmically, with each forceful pump of her blood pulsing around her body, she went over and over in her mind every move she would make. Yet she couldn’t be 100 per cent sure that the man she believed to be the Governor would turn up. Her two voices in her head were at it again: one was cautioning her by saying What if?, the other was saying Greed is a prime motivator. Suddenly, the text came through; it was the one message she was hoping for. Joshua was on his way, so the deal was going ahead. She waited silently, listening with her ears pricked, but there was not a sound.
For half an hour, she waited patiently, praying that Victor would get here soon. She’d remembered telling him that Joshua would arrive at nine o’clock, so she needed Victor here by eight thirty. He had to be here before Joshua, or she would be on her own. She looked at the phone again; it was now ten to nine. ‘Come on, Victor. Hurry up, please,’ she whispered.
Then she heard a car.
She crept out from the toilet and hid behind a steel pillar and looked to see who it was. Christ, it was Joshua. He’d arrived early. Damn! ‘Now, Victor, where are you?’ she whispered again.
She watched as the silver BMW reversed into her hangar and stopped. She thought he’d clocked her before she’d taken up a position behind the girder. Shaking now from head to toe, she took a deep breath. She needed to pull herself together; this was ridiculous, and yet the stories she’d heard about this evil, sadistic bastard that everyone called the Governor plagued her mind.
Worst of all, he was expected to be in her company – right under her nose.
She looked on as the tall, solidly built man stepped out of the car. Even in the dark, she could see he was striking, in his long black coat and with his dark hair combed back. She studied him as he pulled on a pair of black leather gloves, straightened his coat, and walked with long strides to the back of his car.
‘I can see you, Zara!’
She stepped out from behind the girder and looked him over. His upright and thickset frame was new, but because she hadn’t seen him for so long, she guessed he would have changed over the years. She smiled to herself at how solid and confident he was now.
‘You’re early, Josh.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I have everything in place.’
She looked across the field, praying that Victor would arrive soon.
Then her shoulders relaxed; for there, across the field, were headlights. But then she frowned at the speed of the vehicle and wondered what was going on. Victor drove a taxi. Black taxis couldn’t reach the speed of that car. As it got closer, she realized her instincts were right. It wasn’t a taxi but a black BMW 7 Series, although it was hard to see who was inside.
Joshua stepped from behind his car when he heard the sound of the approaching vehicle. ‘Who the fuck is that?’
Sliding his hand into his coat pocket, he gripped his gun. ‘Zara?’
She shot a look his way. ‘I don’t fucking know.’
Zara was straining to see who was in that car, praying it was Victor. The vehicle came to a halt, right in front of the hangar, and, to her relief, the first man out of the BMW was indeed Victor.
Unlike the gentle taxi driver she’d met on the Old Kent Road, Victor looked so different; he appeared so much younger, fitter, and ready for business. ‘Hello, Zara. Sorry I’m late.’ He looked towards Joshua and blinked. All he could see was a dark figure, as his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness.
‘I take it, then, you’re Victor, and you’re here to ensure the exchange of merchandise takes place properly, as agreed by Zara?’
Victor squinted at the man, still trying to see his face. ‘Yeah, that’s right.’
At that moment, the rear passenger doors of Victor’s car opened and out climbed two other men. Zara felt her body quiver; they were big guys with broad shoulders and short hair. At first, she frowned at Victor, before remembering that she’d asked him to bring along some heavies.
‘They’re my lads. You said you wanted some muscle.’ He looked at Joshua. ‘Just a precaution, you understand?’
Joshua nodded. ‘It won’t be necessary, but, Zara, if it gives you piece of mind, the more the merrier. You see, I’m hoping to continue our business. Let’s hope for a long and fruitful relationship.’
Zara loved the way he spoke; it was soft and warming. ‘Right. Let’s get on with it!’
As if someone had waved a magic wand, she felt her heart rate slow down and her muscles relax. She was now in charge. Let the fun begin!
The bang as the shutters hit the floor made everyone jump – but not her. Now they were all in total darkness.
Victor shouted, ‘Zara, what’s going on? What’s fucking happened?’
A sudden whirring sound could be heard as the back wall, which was her father’s genius of an idea, began to move across and open up part of the room to the rear of the building. The secret hidden room. No one could imagine what the hell was going on except Zara; she knew every footstep, every move, because she was the co-mastermind behind it. Instantly, the lights came on, almost blinding everyone with their brightness. She stood behind the steel girder, hoping her plan of having her men hidden behind the secret wall would fall into place with no one getting hurt. Sure enough, after scuffles and the sound of guns being cocked, there was silence. She stepped away from the pillar, content that the Governor was secured.
All eyes were on her as she stood there confidently as the woman behind the firms. There was an uneasy quietness in the building as her captives – now in shock – tried to take it all in. Mike, Staffie, and Willie stood like stone statues, their guns aimed at their adversaries. Tonight was all about closure: the so-called Governor was to be terminated, once and for all.
Mike looked across at Zara for direction. He tried not to be distracted by her presence. It was as if she had stepped off the cover of Vogue magazine. With her hair pulled back from her face, her long, sleek neck holding her head high, and her lips coated in a subtle shade of pink lipstick, she grinned wickedly.
She was really enjoying this, the earlier nerves now a thing of the past. Her lips turned into a self-assured smirk, as she said, ‘Let me introduce myself. I am the fucking Governor.’
Mike couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, and now there she was putting them all to shame – a feisty, clever lady, who no one should ever have underestimated. His mother’s words went through his head: ‘She is stronger than you think.’ She was right, although he would never have believed it. Standing there with her feet apart, facing them like the Devil’s daughter, there was not even a flicker of fear in her eyes. He watched as Joshua moved by her side, sliding his hand around her shoulders. He planted a gentle kiss on her cheek. Mike would have given anything to swap places with that man, just to smell her skin, but it was too late. He knew he’d fucked up. It was over.
She looked over at Mike’s men and wanted to laugh. They hadn’t changed at all, really. Despite their age, they still looked as tough as any youngster. Then her eyes went to Victor. She stared, hugely enjoying the fury on his face and studying the angry red eyes that seemed to bulge from his head. Sweat had gathered on his brow. His determination to break free and tear into her was like watching a caged tiger, frustrated and going out of its mind with pent-up rage.
She smiled mockingly, and then she looked at the two men held captive by his side. The one with a tattoo on his neck and across his chunky knuckles, to the right of Victor, seemed fearful. His round blue eyes were identical to Victo
r’s, yet they held a look of terror not anger. The man to Victor’s left was different. There was no show of emotion, no anger, no fear, no frustration but just a level-headed poker-faced soul. As she locked eyes with him, she could almost taste the evil he possessed. He was no doubt a psychopath. She remembered the saying about the Devil – that he always posed as someone beautiful on the outside. How strange then because this man was indeed very handsome, his tanned skin and soft eyes giving one the impression that he could easily disarm you with his good looks. Behind those pursed lips, she could only guess he had a set of pure white teeth to go with his carefully groomed face. Not even an eyebrow was dishevelled.
Her eyes flicked back to Victor as he tried to struggle, but Willie held his diver’s knife against the man’s throat.
‘Don’t kill him, Willie!’ demanded Zara. ‘Staffie, please would you have my guests seated?’
Staffie nodded and pushed himself away from the wall and walked to the back room. Everyone remained quiet, not moving. The atmosphere was so heavily and bizarrely charged, they could have created an electric storm of their own making.
Staffie brought over chairs, placing them behind Victor and his two sidekicks, while Joshua casually walked over and collected the three guns that the captives had been forced to drop. Then Mike, Staffie, and Willie tied the men to their seats.
Victor and his men were bound so securely they could hardly breathe, and to their obvious annoyance, gags were stuffed into their mouths. Zara couldn’t resist giving them a wink as they sat there in complete and utter humiliation.
Willie bent down and whispered into Victor’s ear, ‘Nice to meet ya, Hannibal Lecter.’
Once their captives were secured and entirely defenceless, Mike, Staffie, and Willie stepped away. Willie took the opportunity to snort a line of cocaine, while Staffie lit up a cigarette and Mike went over to the kitchenette area and put the kettle on.
Along with the other two men, Victor watched with frightened intrigue. He likened it to a film set. Zara, the director, clearly knew the script, but he and his men were sitting there effectively blind.
Victor’s eyes followed Mike Regan around the room. He was the dangerous one. Victor speculated on his form of torture: he knew it would end like this. A concoction of boiling water and sugar, for example, was excruciatingly painful. He should know: he had used that method on more than one occasion. Staffie nonchalantly approached one of the tall metal toolboxes and opened the bottom drawer, the largest of them all. The clanking of metal as the man moved heavy tools around had Victor’s stomach turning over. He fidgeted in terror.
Joshua returned to his position next to Zara. That was when Victor glared in recognition. Joshua wasn’t a dealer, a stranger – this was Joshua Ezra, Izzy’s beloved nephew.
Zara noticed how Victor was unravelling the events in his mind. ‘Is that the so-called Governor, Joshua?’
‘Yes, that’s him, Zara.’
She smiled and then instantly wiped the smile from her face and pulled from her pocket the little ledger and threw it on the floor. It slid across the concrete and stopped directly at Victor’s feet.
‘I must say, that little stunt was ingenious. I am impressed, Torvic!’
Torvic’s eyes widened. It was over; she knew who he really was.
‘You may have thought you would get away with it, and I’m sure if this drugs’ deal was real, you would’ve taken the drugs and the money and probably killed me. I suppose in your sick, warped mind you were just marinating me ready for the oven. Slowly, but surely, you thought you would gain my utmost trust and turn me against my men, against the Regans, and anyone who really cared about me.’
The look on his face told her she was right.
‘You hoped to brainwash me into believing that you had my back, that I couldn’t survive without you, while you picked and clawed away at my business and my money, but, most of all, my name and that of my father.’ She sighed aloud. ‘You tried it once before, but you were younger then and yet so was my father. However, I will admit he was stronger than me, he knew what you were up to, and he knew how low you would stoop, so he sent me away.’ She laughed. ‘I bet you never thought I would ever come back and take over, though, did you? That must have been one hell of a shock for you, huh?’
Torvic’s brain was desperately trying to work out how she’d managed to find out so much, but he didn’t fight the gag to speak. He’d no choice but to remain motionless and let her continue, since she was on a roll.
‘My father told me how smart you were. Only one other person ever got to see your face and that was my cousin Joshua. I guess you assumed he was too young to remember, but a kid doesn’t forget a face like yours when he witnesses the violent act you committed. You poisoned my mother, you evil cunt. It was Josh who saw you doing it.’
She looked down at the ledger and shook her head. ‘Yeah, you nearly had me fooled. But ya know what? I think someone was watching over me the other day. You see, my book opened to a particular page, and there, as the light streamed in, I could see your phone number, but I could also see another number rubbed out. You knew about my father’s office, his secret box, the ledger, and you watched me.’
Mike felt his chest swell at the thought that this evil bastard, who was the reason she was sent away, had been secretly watching her. He wanted to rip Torvic’s head off his shoulders there and then, but she had warned him to stay back and just do as she said. After all they had gone through, he would do exactly as she asked; he owed her that much at least.
‘But, Torvic, I had my suspicions about you when your accent changed. You’re a master of language, I’m guessing. You see, you started off by talking like a real old East End taxi driver, but once you were comfortable in my presence, your accent changed a little. I didn’t hear the Russian, but your cockney banter disappeared. I found it hard to imagine that you were once a sniper in the Army, a dangerous ninja, as my father described you. In fact, you fucked up when you said this morning that you were the Machinist because the real sniper is called the Machine. In fact, he is just how I imagined him to be, which, Torvic, is the complete fucking opposite of you. Oh, and by the way, he wants to meet you, to tick you off his bucket list.’
Torvic squirmed. The realization hit him hard like a rabbit punch to the stomach; he was going to die – probably a horrific death too. He turned his head to his eldest son who was paralysed like a deer caught in the headlights. Eyes glued to the woman, he looked traumatized. Annoyance pricked him. His son should be harder, not sitting there looking afraid. He’d instilled into them his mantra: ‘Show no fear, Son, until the very end. In that way, you show people what you are made of.’ He turned his head to his youngest son, the apple of his eye. The sleek, clever, and perilous one. The son he was most proud of. The one who would have taken over his business once he’d taken control of all the manors. There was no expression on his face; he still appeared cool and calm like a praying mantis, just there watching and listening, with no sweat on his brow, no trembling of his hands, but just a dead soul – exactly how Torvic liked him.
The sound of heavy footsteps approaching pulled Torvic’s gaze away from his son to face the man who owned those boots. He looked up to find a colossus with deep brooding eyes and a heavy brow that knotted together in anger. If there was such a thing as the Devil, Torvic was now coldly staring at his face.
‘Meet the Machine, the real McCoy!’ said Zara.
For the first time, Torvic’s youngest son showed a reaction. Torvic could sense his son’s breathing increase; he turned his head to see his nostrils flaring, his face redden, and his eyes protrude.
Torvic wasn’t surprised or even shocked as to who the real holder of this name was: he knew all along and so did his sons.
‘The day of reckoning has finally arrived, Alastair,’ said Lance, with a deep, gruff voice. ‘There is only one thing I can thank you for, and that is fucking my ex-wife. You suited each other perfectly. You’re a cunt and she’s a bitch. But there
’s only one fucking cunting thing I want to know!’ His breathing was noisy as his anger increased. ‘Which one of you killed my daughter?’
‘Willie, would you remove their gags, please!’ ordered Zara.
Lance stood towering over them like a bear ready to bite their heads off, but he stepped back when he saw Willie Ritz, the nutcase, appear, wielding his diver’s knife. The man was too reckless to get in his way when he had that tool in his hand.
‘With pleasure, Zara!’ Willie laughed, with his madman’s high-pitched chuckle.
Alastair was the first to have his gag cut loose, but the blade didn’t just slice the fabric, it sliced a deep line down Alastair’s cheek. He didn’t scream – he merely flinched slightly.
Zara raised her brow: the man was harder than she’d given him credit for.
‘Who killed Kendall?’ bellowed Lance.
Without even blinking, Alastair curled his lip and glared in silence.
‘I said, who killed her?’
Alastair wasn’t going to back down; he remained stony-faced as if he was getting a kick out of winding Lance up. But he knew it would be Lance who would have the last laugh. Alastair wasn’t stupid. He knew there was no way he was getting out of this alive. But he was adamant he would go down with a smile on his face.
‘You cunt. It was you! You raped my daughter, ’cos you wanted her for yourself. I knew she wanted out of that house for no other reason than she couldn’t stand you. Kendall could handle Rebecca, but you ogling my daughter was just a step away from you touching her. I fucking knew it was you, all along.’
A small laugh escaped Alastair’s lips. ‘But she wasn’t your daughter, Lance.’
Lance was on the point of laying into him, but Willie grabbed Lance first. ‘Easy, mate. He’ll talk. Trust my girl here. When she gets started on him, he’ll sing like Susan Boyle on crack.’
Lance received an arrogant smirk from Alastair, but instead of going for him again, Lance turned his head away. He needed to be bigger than the other man – to stay in control and not kill him stone-dead.