by Tom Wood
Leeson nodded, satisfied with the response. He hadn’t moved since Victor had entered the vehicle. He seemed relaxed and in no rush and showed not even the smallest evidence of trepidation in the company of a hired killer.
‘I have to say,’ Leeson began, ‘that you don’t look quite as I expected.’
‘Then I’m glad.’
Leeson acknowledged the remark with a little nod. ‘Your accent is curious. Which part of the Netherlands are you from?’
‘All of it.’
‘I sense that you aren’t keen on revealing personal details about yourself.’
‘Are you surprised by this?’
‘Not at all. Perhaps you would like a beverage?’
He motioned, but did not look, at a crystal decanter of amber liquid that sat with fat tumblers on a silver tray. The tray rested on the console next to Victor, set between his seat and the one next to it. An identical console was positioned opposite, between the backward-facing seats. They had various buttons and dials for climate and sound control. There were compartments for a fridge and drinks cabinet and all sorts of other necessities the wealthy required when travelling.
‘Thank you for the offer, but no.’
Leeson’s face showed a trace of surprise. ‘You’re not a drinker?’
‘On occasion.’
‘It’s twenty-four-year-old Scotch,’ Leeson explained. ‘Perfect for any occasion.’
The decanter was full. Seven hundred millilitres of whisky. An entire bottle. The tumblers were clean. There was no smell in the air. Perhaps Leeson had not touched it because it had been purchased especially for Kooi’s tastes and Leeson was demonstrating etiquette by not having drunk any before now. Or there could be any number of reasons why Leeson hadn’t touched it himself.
‘I’m fine without,’ Victor said.
Leeson interlaced his fingers. ‘And I thought you were a sailor.’
Victor tried to read the younger man’s expression, but there was nothing there except the same searching gaze.
‘Not while discussing business,’ Victor said.
‘Though we are yet to discuss any.’
‘Then what are we doing?’
‘Getting to know one another a little better.’
‘With all due respect, I’m not interested in getting to know you.’
Leeson said nothing. There was something new in his eyes.
‘My time is precious, Mr Leeson. So if there is no business for us to discuss then I’m afraid I shall need to depart.’
Victor reached for the door release and Leeson held up a hand.
‘Please, Mr Kooi. Stay. Please.’
Victor let his hand fall away.
‘Mr Kooi,’ Leeson began. ‘I know you are a busy man. I know you are a man whose services are in much demand. I’m not trying to waste your time. I invited you here because I wish to discuss a contract with you, a contract that has specifics I feel require more than just inflectionless words bounced by satellite across the world.’
‘I’m listening.’
Victor used an index finger and thumb to pick up a paper napkin from the tray next to him, unfolding it and using it to cover his fingertips as he removed the decanter’s stopper and poured himself a measure of whisky. Leeson watched him the whole time, expressionless.
Victor poured a second glass and offered it to the younger man, who made no move to take it.
‘I don’t drink alone,’ Victor said.
Leeson reached out a hand, but didn’t lean forward, and Victor had to stretch further to bridge the gap. A power game. He sat back down and rested the tumbler on his thigh, the paper napkin still between his fingertips and the glass.
‘You’re a cautious man,’ Leeson said and took a sip from his glass.
‘Is that a problem for you?’
‘Not at all, Mr Kooi. I believe in reliability and trust. And I trust that a cautious man is a reliable man.’
Victor sipped too. ‘I’ve had no complaints thus far.’
‘I can imagine,’ Leeson said with a nod. ‘My last client was most pleased with the way you dealt with those problems in Yemen and Pakistan.’
‘My pleasure.’
‘But not his,’ Leeson said, watching how Victor reacted. ‘He has disappeared into the ether.’ He made a rippling motion with his fingers. ‘Rumour has it that he has been captured or killed by friends of your previous target.’
‘I don’t see the significance,’ Victor said, because he did see it.
‘This is a great shame for two reasons. Firstly, I expected a number of similar contracts to pass my way from him, and therefore to you. That business has now vanished along with the client.’
Leeson paused, and Victor knew he was expected to ask, ‘What’s the second reason?’
‘Ah, the second reason. If the first reason was a great shame then this second is highly troubling, because if the client was apprehended then it raises doubt as to the quality of your work.’
Victor didn’t respond. He looked at Leeson while thinking he could put a bullet through his skull and be out of the Rolls-Royce before the driver could respond. But that would put him in the kill zone between the two cars. The Makarov was a poor copy of a much better, but still outdated, pistol. It had limited effectiveness against anything beyond point-blank range. Victor couldn’t hope to face the marksman and live, even exploiting the limousine’s armour plating as cover. He would have to go out of the left side to put the limousine between himself and the guy behind the rifle, but that meant scrambling over the seat and past Leeson’s corpse. That delay could mean the driver would be ready for him. He might have a better weapon, perhaps body armour underneath his jacket, and would have an easy shot as Victor leapt out of the door. If the limousine’s armour extended to the partition between the rear compartment and the driver’s cab, then a 9 mm round from the Makarov had no chance of penetrating it. There was more chance a ricochet would kill Victor if he attempted to kill the driver by shooting from where he sat. If the partition was unarmoured, Leeson’s corpse would still be in the way and shooting at a trajectory that would avoid the body meant a significant chance the luxury seats and partition wall, thickened by the angle, would deflect the round or slow it enough to render it ineffective. If he attempted to open the partition window it would give the driver enough time to be out of his seat before Victor could shoot through the window.
‘Well?’ Leeson asked. ‘Do you have anything to say for yourself?’
‘Yemeni authorities ruled that my last victim committed suicide, as per the stipulations of the contract. Same as the Pakistani informant.’
‘I’ve read the Yemeni report,’ Leeson said. ‘The target died from a stab wound to the neck. Hardly a common way to end one’s life.’
‘He was a hard target. A CIA operative. He was smart. He took precautions. When you passed me the contract you should have known it would be a difficult ask. And, lest we forget, it was still ruled a suicide.’
‘So why has the client disappeared?’
‘I don’t know enough about the client to offer a considered opinion and I’m not the kind of man who likes to guess. That said, if I had given the target’s associates enough reason to convince them he was murdered, and I say convince because they would automatically suspect given his occupation, then how would they have learned of the client? Certainly not through any mistake I made, because I don’t know enough about the client to leave clues leading to his doorstep. Any mistake I made, and I made none, would have led back to me and me alone. I’m still here, even if he’s not. Hence, the client’s disappearance is nothing to do with my last job.’
Leeson didn’t respond.
Victor said, ‘You must have come to the same conclusion yourself. At least, I sincerely hope you did if we’re to continue this business relationship.’
‘Of course.’
‘So why even bring it up?’
‘Because I wanted to hear what you had to say about it.’
&nbs
p; ‘To what end?’
Leeson produced a little smile. ‘Call it peace of mind.’
‘Then I hope I’ve provided you with some.’
The younger man nodded. ‘Please know that I have been satisfied with your work, which is no small thing. Your good work reflects favourably on my reputation, and a reputation is perhaps the most valuable trait for men like you and I.’
‘I don’t take a job if I don’t believe I can fulfil my part.’
Leeson nodded again. ‘Though, lest we forget, a reputation is nothing but hearsay.’
‘I don’t remember suggesting otherwise. But I didn’t stab the CIA operative in the neck with my reputation.’
‘True,’ Leeson said, smiling again. ‘And there is no hearsay in a man’s eyes. There is only truth.’
‘What truth do you see in mine?’
He didn’t answer for a moment. He just looked at Victor, then said, ‘I see a man of experience. I see a man without conscience. I see a man who sold his soul before he knew he possessed anything of value.’
‘Shall I tell you what I see in yours?’
Leeson shook his head. ‘Not necessary.’
Victor sipped some Scotch.
‘The work I’m offering is dangerous,’ Leeson began, ‘but I expect it to be no more dangerous than other contracts you will have successfully completed. But I don’t just need a man who can pull a trigger. I need a man who can be relied upon. I need a man who can be available where and when I require him to be. I need a man who will follow orders but a man who can improvise. Can you be that man for me, Mr Kooi?’
Be his perfect assassin.
‘For the right price, absolutely.’
‘I’m delighted you said that.’ Leeson rested his whisky on the console and extended his left arm in front of him. He used his right hand to pull back his shirt cuff to reveal a gold watch. He unclasped it and tossed it at Victor, who caught it while sipping Scotch. ‘That’s a diamond-encrusted Rolex Super President. Solid twenty-four karat gold for the most part. Weighs a ton. I think it’s hideous, but I wear it because the circles I mix in require such classless and revolting displays of wealth. Amusing, of course, because the members of such circles do so like to believe they are of a higher class.’
Victor turned the watch over in his hand. It was heavy and extravagant and as obviously genuine as the Algerian trader’s stock had been counterfeit. He didn’t know the price tag, but the watch was worth tens of thousands of dollars.
‘It’s yours,’ Leeson said.
Victor looked back up. ‘In return for what?’
‘A mere ten seconds of your time.’
Victor remained silent.
‘I know you said your time was valuable, Mr Kooi, but a diamond-and-gold Rolex for one-sixth of a minute must be a good deal, even for you.’
‘That depends on how those ten seconds are spent.’
‘I want you to do what you do best.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘I want you to climb out of this limousine and walk over to the taxi and then I want you to kill the driver.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s not a taxi driver. She works for me, and she has failed me far too many times. Kill her any way you like and don’t worry about the mess. We’ll take care of the cleanup and we’ll even drive you back to the airport. I would have paid you in cash, but large amounts of money can be so bothersome to pass through an airport with.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘If it’s important for you to know, her name is Francesca Leone. I’d like you to kill her for me. Right now, if you please.’
Victor paused for a moment, then said, ‘No.’
‘Perhaps we don’t understand one another,’ Leeson said. ‘You’re a hired killer and I’m hiring you to kill. There is nothing to say no to. Ms Leone has outlived her usefulness. Ten seconds’ work for a Rolex. Child’s play.’
Victor placed the watch on the silver tray next to the decanter. ‘The answer hasn’t changed.’
‘She’s pretty, isn’t she? Is that why you’re refusing to kill her? Did she give you an erection while she drove you here?’
‘Just in case you didn’t hear me before: the answer is no.’
‘I’ll double your fee. You can take the Rolex now and I’ll make a sizeable donation to the bank account of your choice.’
Victor’s lips stayed closed. He didn’t blink.
There was no surprise in Leeson’s expression, but there was some kind of calculation running behind his eyes. He sat still and considered Victor in silence.
‘You invited me here for a reason,’ Victor said. ‘You know who I am. My reputation speaks for itself and I won’t change how I conduct myself for anyone, for any price. No amount of money will send me into a situation that I have not fully evaluated beforehand. But, as long as I am able to prepare for a job properly and unrushed, there is nothing I won’t do for you. I won’t kill the woman because I am here to discuss taking a job. I’m not here to do a job. When you require my services you present the work to me in a manner of my choosing and I, not you, will determine the appropriate fee after I have that information. That fee will not be up for negotiation.’
‘You make a lot of demands for a man being interviewed.’
‘I’m not the only one being interviewed.’
Leeson nodded, neither displeased nor pleased. He said, ‘Then I think this conversation has come to its natural conclusion.’
TWENTY
Victor climbed out of the limousine. The air was cold. The wind rippled his jacket. He heard a jet pass overhead. As he shut the door behind him he thought about the marksman lying on the hard ground approximately one hundred metres to his left. He would no doubt be using a thermal imaging scope on which Victor would appear as a stark white shape against a black background. Victor preferred heat as black against a white background, but he knew he was in the minority. It would take a little over three-hundredths of a second for a high-velocity rifle round to cover the distance between where the marksman lay and where Victor stood. The sound wave produced by the gunshot would take more than twice that time to cover the distance. Victor wouldn’t hear it. He would already be dead when the sound reached his ears. He would never know a shot had been fired. He would just die. One second alive; before the next second was out, dead.
Not a bad way to go, considering. He knew that better than most.
But the bald-headed driver didn’t exit the car, so Victor knew he wasn’t going to die just yet. If Leeson had given the marksman the order to fire, the driver would know about it, and he wouldn’t have stayed in his seat. He wouldn’t have been able to see from there. He would have climbed out. He would have wanted to watch.
As Victor crossed the killing zone he saw Francesca looking his way. If she knew of any prearranged course of action, she wouldn’t want to see it go down, whatever he had done to her. She didn’t have the driver’s fondness for violence or Victor’s detachment from it.
He climbed into the back of the Saab taxi and shuffled on the back seat so he sat behind her. She was rubbing her throat. It would be sore for several days. She stared at him via the rear view.
‘How did it go?’ she asked, not because she was interested but because he made her nervous and conversation always induced less fear than silence.
‘Hand me your phone.’
She hesitated, confused and scared. ‘Why?’
‘Because I have a gun and you don’t.’
Francesca continued to stare for a moment, then twisted and tugged on the phone until she had freed it from the holder on the dash. She looked at it and hesitated, and Victor could read her thoughts clearly enough. He didn’t say anything because he didn’t need to.
Eventually, she swivelled in her seat so she could look at Victor as she held it out for him to take. She gripped one corner between her thumb and index finger and pointed the opposite corner his way to create the maximum distance between her hand and his when
he took it from her. She didn’t want his fingers to touch hers.
‘Thank you,’ Victor said.
‘You’re welcome.’
It was a reflexive response, politeness infused into her from an early age. Even now, with someone who had nearly killed her, she couldn’t escape the conditioning.
The phone was clean and unmarked. A thin rectangle of protective transparent plastic covered the screen. When the screen came out of hibernation the service provider’s default background lit up. There was no pass lock and he checked the call log. Just one number. Four entries. The most recent call lasted nine seconds and was made eight minutes ago, moments after he had stepped out of the taxi. The others were spaced out over the evening. The earliest was three hours ago. He loaded the location app.