“Texter called. Turns out he knows our mutual friend who works in Birmingham.”
Kaine paused, hoping for a response, but none came.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes,” she said, her tone flat, almost emotionless. “We’re still here. You’re on speaker, by the way.”
“Good, okay. Someone in Holland needs our help.”
“Really?” Rollo asked before adding, “Good evening, Captain. How’s the trip? Has the young corporal started throwing up yet? He never was much of a sailor.”
Danny looked up to the ceiling, but kept quiet.
“Good evening, Sergeant,” Kaine said.
He interpreted the amusement in Rollo’s words as the sergeant’s way of keeping Lara in check—his recently discovered ‘Uncle Cuddles’ persona rearing its benign head.
“I understand you’re changing your itinerary?” Rollo asked.
“Exactly,” Kaine said and started talking.
Chapter 29
Friday 30th October—Morning
The Port of St Malo, France
The on-board announcer called the foot passengers to the mustering point, and Kaine shunted his Bergen into a more comfortable position. He’d had a fitful night’s sleep, kept awake in part by worrying about how to deal with the Lara situation and by the idiot in the next cabin whose snores cut through the wafer-thin partition wall.
At three in the morning, Kaine considered storming the information desk and demanding to change cabins for one with at least a hint of sound insulation. Then the snores stopped. Danny must have turned over in his bunk. The next thing Kaine remembered was Breton music flooding the PA system in Brittany Ferries’ quaint version of an alarm call.
He and Danny had eaten a full breakfast in a near-empty café, and now stood side-by-side, waiting to disembark. They’d pre-booked a hire car and were bound for the bustling mayhem of Haarlem instead of the more restful delights of Aquitaine.
“Weather’s cleared,” Danny said, looking through one of the salt-stained windows to a view of the port. “Should get some sun today, according to the forecast.”
Kaine yawned but didn’t respond. Unlike the energetic Danny, he wasn’t a morning person and could cheerfully have gone another three hours without talking. A uniformed officer drew open the bulkhead door, thanked them for sailing with Brittany Ferries, and wished them a safe onward journey.
Kaine stepped into the covered gangway and inhaled the cool, clean air of Northern Brittany. Passport in hand and Danny at his back, he shuffled forward with the rest of the passengers. In the customs zone the Bergen just about squeezed into the tray and passed through the x-ray machine without sounding the alarm. Danny’s smaller pack caused less of a problem and they were through into the port terminal within seconds.
Dozens of people filled the baggage claim area, but Kaine focused his attention on the signage, searching for the car hire bureaux. A slim, dark-haired woman crossed his line of vision. The way she moved seemed familiar. His heart flipped.
Lara?
Couldn’t be. She’d been playing on his mind, screwing with his imagination. The woman passed behind a big man in a heavy roll-neck sweater.
Rollo.
No doubt. Couldn’t be anyone else.
“Well, bugger me,” Danny said, dropping his backpack to the floor. “What the hell are they doing here?”
Lara stepped out from behind Rollo, a huge smile lighting her face. Kaine stopped midstride and his Bergen crashed to the floor alongside Danny’s. He couldn’t decide whether to be angry or delighted. He chose both.
Rollo marched forward, picked up Kaine’s Bergen in one hand, and led a spluttering Danny away without offering an explanation.
The crowds around Kaine and Lara melted away. Silence descended.
“Surprised to see me?” she asked, eyes shining.
“Stunned more like. Furious, too. What the hell are you doing here? How did you get here so quickly? Damn it, woman. Why can’t you ever do as you’re told?”
Kaine stopped talking when her smile faded. He let go of the anger, gave into the delight, and took a step closer. She did the same in a hesitant dance. He lost control and folded her into his arms.
Before he knew what was happening, they kissed.
Their first real kiss and he was lost. Completely defeated.
It seemed to last for hours and for moments. Her hand caressed his neck, easing away his tension. He broke the connection first, didn’t want to, but needed to come up for air.
Her body felt good in his. Firm and soft and round. Christ he enjoyed her touch.
“That’s better,” she said, pulling away and searching his eyes. “Much better.”
He licked his lips. “You taste sweet.”
She laughed. “I’ve just finished my second hot chocolate while waiting for the boat to dock.”
“It’s a ship, not a boat,” he said, searching for a way to smooth any awkwardness. “A … boat can fit on a ship, but a ship can’t fit on a boat. And I didn’t taste chocolate.”
“Ryan Liam Kaine,” she whispered, after first checking to make sure no one was close enough to overhear, “you could at least try to come up with something more original.”
“Give me time. I thought about saying the earth moved, but after the storm we just sailed through, I was worried you might question my sea legs. Not the thing to do to a navy man. You shouldn’t be here, Lara. It could be dangerous and I don’t want you hurt.”
“My word, you are such an old romantic.”
Kaine sighed. She’d ripped apart his determination to stay aloof and professional. Luckily there were two top flight military men guarding their backs. Unluckily, both currently wore goofy smiles and looked as though they were about to start cheering.
Not good in terms of security, but first rate in terms of improving his morale.
“So,” he said, edging her closer to the safety of the goofy ones, the older of whom showed a comforting bulge under his left armpit, “mind answering my questions, Doc?”
Lara frowned in concentration and hugged his arm in both hers as though to stop him running off. “Okay, in order of delivery. Rollo and I are here to help. A close friend of mine lives in Amsterdam, and she’s married to a lawyer. Last night, Sabrina’s system alerted us to the young man’s arrest and we were already on our way here to meet you when you called.
“We took turns driving and kept checking the villa’s answerphone. That’s why it took us a little while to return your call. We had to find a quiet lay-by so you wouldn’t hear the traffic. Rollo didn’t want you to know what we were doing in case you ordered him to turn back to the villa.”
Kaine fired a glance at his once-trusted friend. “The minute I have a chance, Sergeant Rollason and I are going to have some serious words.”
“Please don’t be angry with him, Ryan. He loves and respects you. You know that, right?”
“Hmm. He’s a military man to the core. Wouldn’t thank you for using the ‘L’ word. By the way, you’ve left out one question.”
“The one about my not listening to you?”
Kaine threw her a scowl, not that he meant it. “Yes, that’s the one.”
“Oh, Ryan, I’ll always listen to you. Doesn’t mean I’ll obey, mind. I’m not one of your awestruck squaddies.”
He stopped and hugged her again, enjoying her warmth. “God, woman. You’re impossible.”
“I know.” She laughed. “We make a good team.”
“Not if you keep putting yourself in danger.”
She pecked his cheek.
“So, what are we going to do next?”
Kaine looked from her to the awestruck squaddies. “I guess we’re all going to Haarlem.”
“Good answer.”
She rested her head on his shoulder.
While the other passengers hurried about their business, Kaine found his island of tranquillity, if only for a few moments.
The End
Read on for a sneak preview of Ryan Kaine’s next adventure.
Ryan Kaine: On the Attack
“By Strength and Guile”
by
Kerry J Donovan
©Kerry J Donovan, December 2017
Chapter 1
Wednesday 25th November—Joseph Tedesco
Southampton, England
Joseph ‘Teddy’ Tedesco glared at the empty whisky glass in his hand. He’d have thrown the fucking thing at the wall, but his therapist kept telling him it wouldn’t help lower his blood pressure or address his anger control issues.
Fuck.
He was paying the fruitcake a small fortune and the best coping strategy she could come up with was for him to think things through before he acted.
Fuck.
It was little better than the things Mother kept telling him.
“Count up to ten, Teddy. Count up to ten. The anger will go and the world will seem a better place if you do.”
If he’d listened to Mother, he’d have saved thousands of quids’ worth of therapy over the years, but … sod it. If Teddy’d listened to Mother, he’d still be working for the Shylock in the betting shop and wouldn’t be the owner of all he surveyed, half of Southampton’s seafront. He owned a dozen casinos on the south coast, fishing boats, pleasure cruisers, a stud farm on the South Downs, and a racecourse. Where would he be if he’d counted to ten and toed the bloody line?
He let the Kraut on the other side of the desk, Schechter, squirm a little longer before delivering his judgement.
The moron would be doing plenty more squirming in a minute, but Teddy kept him dangling on the end of the line for a little longer. It suited his style and made the ending all the sweeter. The two slabs of muscle standing by the door already knew what he was going to say—he told them before they let Schechter into his office, his inner sanctum. They’d be ready for any reaction from the stupid Kraut.
German efficiency, be fucked.
On the other hand, Schechter looked the part. Tall, blond, square-jawed, intelligent blue eyes, the archetypical Aryan—one of Hitler’s supermen. Yeah well, Teddy knew what happened to Hitler and his bully boys. Bottled out and ended up losing a war they should have won. Yeah, Schechter had come highly recommended by a man Teddy trusted, but that hadn’t worked out so well. Not for the Kraut, and not for the Kraut’s sponsor.
Fuck’s sake, who did he have to screw over to get things done properly?
He held up the empty glass and the nearer of the two guards, Ginger, rushed to refill it for him.
Good monkey. Well trained.
Teddy warmed the glass in his cupped hand and inhaled the rich vapours. Smokey and warm. The aroma of peat bogs, oak casks, and heather. The way a Macallan Speyside single malt should smell. Reassuringly expensive. He raised the lead crystal glass and touched the liquid to his lips, allowing the skin to absorb the moisture. He licked away the residue.
Very pleasant.
Now, back to business.
“Tell me, Schechter, how difficult can it be to get rid of a corpse?”
The Kraut stared back, said nothing. His open-mouthed expression dumb and stupid. Not a good look for someone about to plead for his life. Not that he knew it yet.
Teddy lowered his glass to the coaster in case he lost control, as was imminent. Wasting any of the nectar wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all. To make certain, he rolled his chair further away from the desk, distancing himself from the glass and the Kraut. It gave him more perspective.
More room to operate.
“It isn’t a rhetorical question, man. Answer me!”
Schechter stiffened. For the first time since he’d joined the organisation, the German showed real fear. Quite right, too. On the other hand, it was the first time he’d fucked up in all that time. Simple thing, but it caused a monumental fucking headache.
“I apologise, Mr Tedesco,” he said in that fucking annoying stiff and proper accent. “It was the result of unforeseen circumstances. We thought—”
“You thought! Fuck off. You didn’t think at all. When Grady recommended you, he said you were bright. A university graduate, no less. It’s not like Grady to be wrong. Shame really, he used to be my ‘go-to’ guy for new personnel, but not anymore. I’ve had Timothy and Ginger reacquaint him with his old hospital bed. Be drinking his meals through a straw for the next few weeks. He’s not ‘going-to’ go anywhere for a while.”
Ginger sniggered. Teddy grabbed a book off the shelf behind him and hurled it at the big red-headed fucker, who caught it mid-flight, in front of his nose. Good reactions. Reminded Teddy why he’d kept the bugger around for so many years.
Good lad, but best to keep him in his place.
“What the fuck you laughing at? Your job is to stand there, look mean, and do as I say. Did I tell you to laugh? You’re not laughing, are you, Timothy?”
Timothy, his big African bodyguard, looked at a point above Teddy’s head, giving it the thousand-yard stare.
“No, Mr Tedesco. Not at all, sir.”
“That’s right. See that, Schechter? Timothy knows when to answer and when to keep his mouth shut. Pity Ginger doesn’t learn from him, ’cause he doesn’t know when to keep his ears closed.”
Ginger shut the book quietly and hugged it to his massive chest. A thick, leather-bound volume it was, something about the Decline and Fall of Rome. Teddy’s interior designer—the mincing queer—bought a truckload of the dusty monstrosities covered in animal skin to build the room’s ‘ambience’. In the end, Teddy approved of the look and had even read a couple of them. After all, they’d cost enough. Might as well get some use out of them other than as fuck-off expensive wallpaper.
“You can put it back where it belongs, Ginger. We all know you never learned to read. Yeah, you can laugh at that one, it’s meant to be a joke.”
Timothy smirked as Ginger marched across the room to replace the volume with its mates and returned to his post without so much as a twitch in his expression.
Teddy sat still, giving Schechter the evil eye. What the fuck was he going to do? Things were beginning to slip sideways. If he didn’t get business back on track, the hyenas from London would come south and start circling, and he couldn’t let that happen. Teddy valued his position in society—and his neck—too much to allow it. No way. Best cauterise the dead tissue before the infection spread, and what better way than to make an example of the young German wise-arse.
Top of his head, Teddy could list a dozen ways to dump a corpse, and all of them would have been better than the one Grady and Schechter chose, stupid mutts. Most of the methods, he’d utilised himself on his way up the ladder.
Dig a hole in the woods somewhere and plant the body as fertiliser. Chop it up into pieces and feed it to the pigs. That was a good way. Pigs loved human meat. Ate everything—bones, teeth, the lot, and then crapped it out over the fields as manure. Ace. The circle of life. Another way was to hire a boat and throw the carcase overboard with a lump of concrete tied to its ankles. Simple. Back in the day, you could drop a body into the foundations of a bridge and cover the bloody thing with a thousand tonnes of ready-mix. The old joke about Fearsome Freddie propping up a flyover on the M1 wasn’t so much of a joke. Teddy’d even heard that a couple of uppity cops from Kent Constabulary had found their way into foundations of the Chunnel.
Best place for them.
Couldn’t do that these days, though. Not since builders became so bloody security conscious and fenced everything in. Teddy blamed the Health and Safety Executive and all the other Nanny State do-gooding bastards. Fuck them and all the fucking so-called terrorists who gave good, honest thieves a bad name.
“Okay, Schechter. I gave you and Grady the simple task of losing Tubby Malahide’s blubber-filled carcase and the whole thing ended up like a dog’s breakfast. Tell me in your own words what happened, and tell me what you are doing to rectify the situation.”
The Kraut clasped his hands together, finally realising the s
erious nature of the situation. A sheen of sweat formed on his upper lip.
Yeah, that’s right, Schechter. You should be sweating.
Teddy retrieved his drink and took a real sip, soaking up the golden liquid and waiting for a story that might just save a German’s life—but he doubted it.
Schechter swallowed and cast a longing look at the whisky.
Fat chance. Be lucky to get water. Unless it’s part of the Solent.
“Come on, I don’t have all evening.”
“I apologise, Mr Tedesco. I was trying to gather my thoughts. I-I need to make this as clear and concise as possible. On Sunday last, Grady called me and told me we had a task to perform on your behalf.”
“Yes, yes. I know all that. Don’t think you can shift all the blame onto Grady just because he’s not here to defend himself. I already have his explanation and want your side of things before making my decision. See how fair I can be? That’s why they call me the nicest boss on the south coast. Isn’t that right, Timothy?”
The big African dipped his head.
“That’s right, Mr Tedesco,” he said, in a deep, rumbling voice that could shatter bricks—and kneecaps. “Absolutely.”
“Get on with it, Schechter. I’m growing impatient.”
The German shuffled in his chair. “Grady called me to his flat and told me to bring a tarpaulin and a car with a big enough trunk to take the, ah, package to—”
“Fuck’s sake, man. It’s after the watershed. Call a shovel and fucking shovel.”
“Entschuldigen sie? Excuse me?”
“Tubby wasn’t a brown paper parcel headed to the Post Office. He was a corpse, a cadaver, a body, a stiff. He might have been dipping his hand in the till, but he already paid for it with his life. Show him some fucking respect!”
Ryan Kaine: On the Defensive: Book Three in the Ryan Kaine Action Thriller Series Page 25