Gavin Martin and Jeanne Chevrier both happened to be in the lounge, taking tea together. Gavin shunted out a spare chair at the table with his foot, and Roy took it. He ordered a pot of Earl Grey and a toasted muffin.
“Any word about the job?” Roy enquired.
“Not seen Badenhorst all day,” Gavin replied, “but we’d know if it had gone tits up, wouldn’t we? We’d be on the plane and in the air pronto if it had. Safe to say that Sean and co. pulled it off and are in their rooms catching up on sleep.”
“I’m surprised old biltong breath didn’t pick you this time,” said Gavin. “You’re his golden boy.”
“I think he wants to keep us fresh. Rotating the squads helps with that. And we’re all getting paid the same, regardless of how many jobs we go on. As long as the bank transfer comes through at the end, I don’t care how much or how little I have to do to earn it.”
“Wise words, mate.” Gavin was a stocky Midlander with a gregarious nature and an easygoing smile. To look at him you might never have suspected that he had once been a sergeant in the UK’s elite commando force, the SAS. He seemed the kind of bloke who’d be at his happiest fly-fishing, or sinking a pint with his mates down the pub, not parachuting behind enemy lines to gather recon data and slit throats.
“Did you hear about the fire, Roy?” Jeanne said.
“What fire?”
“It was on the lunchtime news. The hotel staff are all talking about it. Some place nearby burned down last night. Stately home belonging to this musician guy.”
“Del Karno,” said Gavin.
“Name rings a bell.” Roy searched his memory. “Yeah. I remember seeing him on Top of the Pops a couple of times when I was a kid. He wore terrible baggy silk pantaloons and a button-down tunic. Played one of those guitar keyboard things. Lots of dry ice and lasers. ‘Visions of You’, wasn’t that one of his? Catchy little ditty. Is he dead, then?”
“Looks that way,” said Jeanne. “Him and at least six others. All women. He had this kind of harem thing going on.”
“All right for some,” Gavin said.
“Is that your dream? Sharing a house with six women?”
“Isn’t it everyone’s?”
“Not mine.” She chucked a sugar sachet at him.
Gavin deflected it with a laugh. “What about six men, then?”
“One would be more than enough.” The French Canadian aimed a swift glance at Roy as she said this. It was scarcely more than a sideways flick of the eyes. He almost missed it. He was glad he didn’t. Jeanne was lean and elfin, with a lively face and a bawdy sense of humour. Exactly his type. Maybe when all this was over...
“So it was an accident, this fire?” he said.
“No one’s sure yet,” said Gavin. “Might have been faulty wiring. That’s one theory. It was an old building. A stray spark could have set the whole blaze off. They’re going to investigate as soon as it’s safe. But Karno was a bit of a naughty boy by all accounts, fond of the narcotics, and he may have caused it himself. Like he knocked over a candle or something by mistake and was so out of it he didn’t realise.”
“Sounds plausible. How far is his house from here?”
“A few miles. One of the waiters said Karno used to visit the hotel sometimes to pick up girls.”
“Do you think...?” Roy began.
“Do I think what?”
Roy grimaced. “I’m wondering if Del Karno was the job.”
Gavin frowned. “One of our targets was an ’eighties pop star?”
“Seems unlikely, I know, but he lived up the road, and a house fire is an excellent way of erasing evidence.”
“I guess it’s a possibility,” said Jeanne.
“But that would make the others who died in the fire collateral damage,” said Gavin.
“Unless they were targets as well,” said Roy. “Which doesn’t fit the pattern of the jobs so far.”
“You seem pissed off,” Jeanne observed.
“Not as such. But I think I’m going to go and have words with Badenhorst.”
ROY HAMMERED on the door to Badenhorst’s room. The Afrikaner opened it wearing nothing but one of the hotel bathrobes, securing the draw cord under his barrel-like belly. His cheeks were flushed and he was evidently annoyed to have a visitor, although he tried to mask it. Roy had interrupted something.
“Afternoon, Roy. Not being rude or anything, but there’s a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the door handle. Did you not see it?”
“You got a moment?”
Badenhorst glanced back over his shoulder into the room.
So he had company. Probably the kind of company you paid for. By the hour.
“Can it wait?”
“I suppose. How long?”
“Give me thirty minutes.”
Roy returned half an hour later. In the corridor leading to the room he passed a woman coming the other way. She was heavily made-up and wearing stiletto heels and a leather micro-skirt, with a shiny ash-blonde wig that contrasted sharply with her dark skin. Her perfume was pungent, strong enough to disguise much worse smells. Badenhorst’s “company”, had to be. Roy watched her totter along to the stairs and click-clack down them. From the way she held herself, a slight stiffness in her gait, she looked to be in some discomfort. He imagined Badenhorst had purchased extras.
The Afrikaner, this time, gave a better rendition of someone who was pleased to see Roy.
“Come in, come in. Something from the minibar? It’s on me. Well, on our employer. No? I’m going to have a whisky myself. Sure you won’t join me? Ach, never mind.”
The room reeked of the woman’s perfume. There was also a mustier undertone, the aroma of sweat and effort. The bed had been made, though not as neatly as if a chambermaid had done it.
“It was Del Karno,” Roy said.
“Straight to the point, eh?” Badenhorst uncapped a miniature of Famous Grouse and downed it at a gulp. “I presume Sean told you, or Hans or Gunnvor?”
“No. Haven’t seen them yet. I worked it out for myself.”
“Well done, you. Yes, it was him. Del Karno was the target. So what? You a fan of his?”
“And the team set a fire afterwards to cover their tracks, yes?”
“They put a frying pan full of cooking oil on the gas stove, lit the gas ring, left it. I think they placed some dishcloths and a roll of paper towel nearby, to help speed things along when the pan caught alight. It’s a pretty standard method for making arson look like a domestic mishap. You may have used it once or twice yourself. Within forty minutes the whole kitchen was in flames. The rest of the house followed soon after. Again, so what?”
“Did they know about the women who were staying at the house?”
Badenhorst’s smile remained in place, but his face hardened around it. “Ah, so this is what’s bugging you.”
“Were they targets too?”
The Afrikaner weighed his reply carefully. “They weren’t what you might call ‘on the list’. But, Roy, think about it. What else were the team going to do? Leave the guy’s body lying there with a dirty great stab wound in it, for those women to find in the morning? We’re about making these deaths as inconspicuous as possible. That’s our prime directive. Which, if it means a few others have got to die, it’s a pity, but...” He shrugged. “Unavoidable.”
“There must have been some other way. Whose idea was it to start the fire?”
“Sean’s. He was leader, and he made an field decision. They’d caught Karno in the kitchen. A kitchen fire therefore seemed the logical solution. But don’t blame him. Sean ran it past me over the comms and I gave him the go-ahead. The buck stops here.” Badenhorst jabbed a stubby thumb at his own chest.
“How very noble of you.”
“That’s how chain of command works, Roy. And don’t you forget it. I must say, I’m a little surprised you’re being so squeamish all of a sudden. You’ve been an outcomes facilitator how long? Three years? In that time you’ve got to have had some b
yblow from one of your jobs, surely.”
“Never.”
“Never?”
“I’ve never killed anyone I wasn’t being paid to kill.”
“What, you’ve never blown up someone’s car and there were passengers in it besides the target?”
“Never.”
“You’ve never had to take out bodyguards who’re standing between you and the target?”
“Never.”
“You’ve never eliminated witnesses?”
“Never.”
Badenhorst whistled softly. “Well, it’s no wonder you’re so highly thought of in the circles we move in, Roy Young, even after such a short career. You’re a blerrie human smart missile, you are. You only hit what you’re aimed at.”
“I don’t like mess,” Roy said. “I don’t like overspill. I especially don’t like harming innocents.”
“Depends on how you define innocent, doesn’t it? Targets don’t necessarily have to be bad people, after all. They can just be a business rival, a political opponent, a union agitator, a spouse’s bit on the side. They don’t have to deserve to die; they only have to stand in the way of someone who has money and probably is morally corrupt. Do you ever consider that? That maybe it’s the person paying you who’s the one you should be killing, not the person you’re being paid to kill?”
Roy had indeed considered it. Long and hard. All too often.
“Yeah,” said Badenhorst, seeing his expression. “Thought as much. You can get up on your fokken high horse, Roy, but it’s no higher than anyone else’s. You just think it is. You’re compromised simply by being in the business you’re in. Pretending you still have ethics is fooling no one, least of all yourself.”
“There could have been another way.” It sounded lame and Roy knew it. “Those women didn’t have to die too. At the very least they could have died more cleanly. Being burned to death is a horrible way to go.”
“Ach, they were most likely knocked unconscious in their sleep by the smoke. They wouldn’t have felt a thing.”
“You don’t know that for certain.”
“No, but I’ll tell you what: I can believe it, and that’s enough. Means I don’t lose a wink of sleep about it. You and this conscience of yours, Roy. Is it making you have second thoughts? Would you like to back out of the project?”
Roy wanted to say yes. He really did.
“Because you’re welcome to.” Badenhorst made an ushering motion. “Feel free. You won’t get paid for services rendered, of course. It might put a dent in your professional reputation as well. I mean, if someone were to come to me for a reference further down the line, I could hardly give them a glowing one, could I? ‘Roy Young? Bit of a moegoe, if you ask me. Can’t handle pressure.’ That’s what I might tell them. Moegoe means ‘coward’, by the way. Pussy.”
“I gathered that,” Roy said, tight-lipped.
“Not everyone is familiar with Afrikaner slang, that’s all. And I know how much you need the money, my friend. Don’t think that I don’t. I know about your daughter. What’s her name? Josie. I know she’s the reason you got into this line of work in the first place. Poor little Josie.”
Roy felt his fists clench. “Be very careful what you say next, Badenhorst.”
Badenhorst grinned. “Oh, I’ll say what I like, and you’ll have no choice in the matter. Because I hold the purse strings, don’t I? And you want what’s in the purse. You need it. For Josie. Who’s a pretty young bakvissie but who’s also a bit crazy. A bit wrong in the head. A bit...” Badenhorst twirled a forefinger at his temple and rolled his eyes. “That’s why she’s at that Swiss booby-hatch and you’re paying a fortune to keep her there.”
Roy glared at him.
“Oh, ja, Roy, I know about that. I know about you. About all of you Myrmidons. I do my blerrie homework, don’t I? I do my background checks. That’s my thing. I’m thorough. Your Josie has severe bipolar disorder. I’ve read her case notes and psychiatric evaluations. Doctor-patient confidentiality, my arse; it’s amazing how easily doctors forget the Hippocratic Oath when you wave a wad of cash under their noses. She’s had manic-depressive episodes since puberty, repeated and acute, resulting in self-harm, anorexia, bulimia and attempted suicide. She is, in layman’s terms, one fokked-up young lady.”
Roy’s fists clenched tighter. He heard his knuckles crack.
“Such a shame,” Badenhorst went on, “because she’s a choty goty. I’ve seen a picture of her. I’d tap that like a shot, if she weren’t a nutter and likely to cut my balls off with a pair of scissors.”
The Afrikaner had gone from taunting to openly goading Roy. His round, meaty face was almost bursting with smug contempt, challenging Roy to react, inviting him to take a swing. And the instant Roy snapped, Badenhorst could fire him. He’d be out on his ear, without a penny in wages. The three months he had spent in training under Badenhorst, and the two operations he had so far carried out, would all be for nothing. Those were the terms of the contract which Roy and the other Myrmidons had signed. You either saw it out to the end, or you were in breach. No non-refundable downpayment. No stepped increments. Take it or leave it.
As deals went in the wetwork trade, it was an unusual one. Normally you were paid something even if the mission failed or had to be aborted. A retainer, expenses. You were never completely out of pocket, whether or not the end-result was a successful kill.
Roy had gone along with it, despite his misgivings, because the final fee was so fantastically huge. An average one-off job netted him fifty to a hundred thousand US dollars; in this instance, each Myrmidon stood to receive a lump sum of ten million. It was too tempting an amount to say no to, in spite of the unorthodox conditions attached.
Ten million, properly invested, would yield enough interest to cover the bills at the Gesundheitsklinik Rheintal amply, for as long as was necessary. Josie’s continued treatment would be assured. This in turn meant that Roy would not have to work as an outcomes facilitator ever again. He could quit and do something else – anything else – for a living. Drive a bus. Stack shelves at a supermarket. Sweep streets. Anything. He would not have to take one more life in order to save his daughter’s. He would no longer have to buy her future with the blood of others.
A single punch to Badenhorst’s face would change all that, and they both knew it. Killing the Afrikaner with his bare hands – and Roy was sorely tempted – would be just as counterproductive. Without Badenhorst there to oversee it, the entire project would collapse. Whoever his employer was would be forced to pull the plug. Badenhorst, as mastermind and liaison, was indispensable. An ugly, gloating lynchpin.
Roy made himself relax, prying his fingers out of his palms and willing his hands to unclench. It took every ounce of self-control he had.
“If you” – his voice was strained and quavering – “if you ever talk about my daughter like that again... If you ever even mention her again... I’ll...”
“Yes?” said Badenhorst. “You’ll do what?”
Roy did not answer.
“I thought as much,” said the Afrikaner.
Roy left the room. He didn’t slam the door behind him. It would have been petty. It would have made no difference. He went straight to his own room and ran through his exercise routine a second time, and then a third for good measure, until his clothes were soaked with sweat and every muscle ached. A full quarter of an hour of nadi shodhana pranayama, and he was almost calm again.
Almost.
ELEVEN
Washington, D.C.
“I STILL DON’T know whether this is a good idea or not, Chase.”
Theo and Chase were sitting in a rental car across the street from a large federal-style mansion in the Georgetown district of Washington. They had driven down from New York that morning, completing the trip in a shade under five hours, not bad time at all considering there had been roadworks on the I-95 southbound outside Baltimore. Theo had been at the wheel the entire journey while his cousin made work-related p
hone calls and napped. Theo couldn’t say which he found more irritating: Chase schmoozing television executives or Chase snoozing in the passenger seat.
Now, stationed in a leafy thoroughfare in the capital’s toniest and most expensive neighbourhood, they were weighing up their options.
“I mean to say,” Theo continued, “if he hasn’t returned your calls, what makes you think he’ll let us in when we come knocking at his front door? You left half a dozen messages for him yesterday. I can’t believe he never checked his phone in all that time. No one doesn’t check their phone for that long. He’s stonewalling us.”
“Maybe he is,” said Chase. “Or maybe the number I dug up for him is an old one. Either way, all the more reason we try and see him in person, man to man.”
“What are you proposing? We go up to the gate and press the buzzer?”
The house was set in walled grounds, with an automated gate barring access to the short driveway. There were surveillance cameras, at least three in plain sight, undoubtedly more of them hidden from view.
Age of Heroes Page 10