The Game

by Tom Wood

  The door was six metres away. He could cover the distance and be through it before anyone could intercept him. Leeson was pointing a gun at him, but Leeson was no marksman. Victor doubted he could hit a moving target. The mill was enclosed by the chain-link fence topped with spikes, but it was almost sunset. Shadows were deepening. The modern mill building was huge and full of machinery and blind spots – places to hide and to ambush pursuers. There would be improvised weapons. He had the valet key still. If he distracted them long enough he could get to the limousine and charge through the gates. It wasn’t a great plan. It wasn’t even a half-decent one. As soon as he was out of the door he would be improvising every step.

  There was only a slim chance of a successful outcome, but a slim chance was all he needed – those inside the room had no idea what he was really capable of, and he would do anything to survive.

  Victor stared into Lucille’s confused, terrified eyes, and then down to Peter’s. The boy didn’t blink. He stared at the man he believed to be his father. The man about to run away and leave him to his death.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Victor said.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Leeson’s expression didn’t change. It didn’t change because there were only two answers to the dilemma he had posed, and Kooi or Victor or any sane person would never choose immediate death for himself and his family if there was even the slightest possibility of avoiding it. Leeson ruffled Peter’s hair.

  ‘You see,’ he said to the boy, ‘your father does love you. My father loved me too. It’s a good feeling, isn’t it?’

  Peter didn’t blink. Victor found it hard to hold his gaze for any length of time.

  Hart faced Victor. ‘This is how it’s going to work, Dutch: you’ll leave shortly, after you’ve changed into some more suitable attire. Francesca, Coughlin and myself will accompany you. The embassy is a fifteen-minute drive from here. We’ll drop you and Francesca off to go to the reception. She’ll be your date, but think of her as a chaperone. Me and Coughlin are going to be running the show from an apartment that overlooks the terrace where the ambassador will make a speech. That’s the one time we know for certain where Prudnikov is going to be. The speech is due to take place at 2100 hours, but you’ll need to be in the party an hour before that to get security used to your presence and forget about you. Turn up ten minutes before the speech and blow yourself up and too many awkward questions are going to be asked in the aftermath. Can’t have that, can we? We’re going to keep the comms old school to avoid detection. Francesca will text updates to me every fifteen minutes to let us know you’re behaving yourself. If anything stops her sending a text or you’re not on that balcony when you should be, then bad things are going to happen to Lucille and Peter. From the apartment we’ll be able to guide you into range of Prudnikov and we’ll be able to confirm the op’s success after you push the button. Simple.’

  ‘You’ve thought of everything,’ Victor said.

  ‘Do you understand, Mr Kooi?’ Leeson asked.

  ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘What’s my role?’ Dietrich asked.

  Leeson smiled. ‘Think of yourself as the motivation, Mr Dietrich. You’ll remain here with me so that you can butcher Kooi’s wife and child if he does not fully comply. Is that okay with you?’

  ‘Nothing would make me happier.’

  ‘Remember when I told you I needed Mr Dietrich because he had no compunction, Mr Kooi? Well, this is what I was talking about. Do you believe he will carve your brood into little chunks should I command it?’

  Victor glanced at Dietrich’s grinning face. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tremendous,’ Leeson said. ‘Then we can dispense with any unpleasant demonstrations to prove we mean what we say.’

  Dietrich looked disappointed.

  ‘We’re all set,’ Hart said.

  ‘Excellent.’ Leeson looked at his gold watch. ‘I’m getting excited now.’

  ‘I need more time,’ Victor said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To make sure I do it right. To make sure the job is successful.’

  ‘He’s stalling,’ Hart said.

  ‘He can try to stall all he wants,’ Leeson added. ‘But we have a schedule to keep and if we’re late for any reason his family die. You were hired in part because you are a competent professional, so if there is a problem that we have not foreseen you will have to find a solution. It’s up to you to make sure this comes off perfectly.’

  ‘It’ll never work,’ Victor said. ‘You must know that.’

  ‘There’s no reason for it not to. Your role is a simple one. All you have to do is approach the target and use the phone.’

  ‘The Russians won’t comply with the demands. I may kill Prudnikov, but the Chechens will not succeed.’

  ‘Why don’t you let me worry about that, Mr Kooi? You worry about your family.’

  ‘But why all this for something that cannot possibly work?’

  ‘Why should I care if this works or not? My client is paying for the death of comrade Prudnikov. Which will be achieved if you do your part and save your family. I don’t care about these idiots and their ideals. Whether their objective after the fact is achieved or not is immaterial to me and inconsequential to yourself. They’ll all be killed when the embassy is eventually breached, just as you said would happen. Or, who knows? Maybe it will work and they’ll get what they want. Then perhaps I’ll start a side business in professional terrorism. Could be the next big growth industry. Why have fanatics blinded by cause of religion when you can have experts?’ He smiled to himself. ‘Maybe that will be my slogan. But I suggest you concentrate on your specific role in proceedings. You can’t afford to be distracted.’

  ‘There can be no greater distraction than having my family threatened with death.’

  Leeson smirked. ‘Call it incentive then. Now let’s get you dressed and ready. You’ll be pleased to know I have an excellent tuxedo for you to wear. You want to look smart when you meet your maker, do you not?’

  Leeson was right. The vest was Victor’s size. It fitted exactly as it should. That didn’t surprise Victor. They knew his sizes because they had taken his clothes when he’d first arrived at the farmhouse. That had been a smart deception. It was reasonable and predictable that Leeson would be cautious and would seek to ensure there were no weapons or recording devices on Victor’s person. Victor hadn’t anticipated Leeson would want his clothes for any other reason. Jaeger had done a fine job spreading out the plastic explosives to make the vest as thin as possible and the weight distribution as even as it could be. Hook and eye straps secured it in place.

  Leeson was right about the tux too. It was an expensive, high-quality outfit. The jacket and shirt were a size too big, but that was to accommodate the vest beneath. Victor dressed in the antechamber of the old mill, watched by his team.

  ‘You plug the phone in like this,’ Hart said when Victor had finished dressing.

  Victor nodded.

  ‘You can’t tell he’s wearing it.’ Dietrich smirked. ‘You’re the best dressed suicide bomber in history.’

  Francesca entered the room. She carried a small serving tray on which rested a glass of water. Next to the water stood a small plastic bottle of prescription drugs. Next to the bottle sat a small white capsule.

  ‘What’s this?’ Victor asked.

  ‘It’s a sedative,’ Hart explained. ‘Anxiety medication. It’ll keep your heart rate low and ensure you stay relaxed. You won’t be scared. You’ll be quite content, in fact. If you go into that embassy sweating and panicking, security are going to be on to you long before you get within kill range. We know you’re the ice man, but this will help you keep extra cool. You’ll probably feel a little dehydrated and your throat will be dry. There won’t be any lasting damage. Not that that will matter, of course.’

  ‘Comforting to know.’

  ‘An added benefit is that it will make you pliable and suggestible. Which you should be glad about. If you get scared and try to ba
ck out at the last minute you’ll get your wife and child killed, and you don’t want that, do you?’

  ‘I don’t need the drug.’

  ‘I’m guessing there are a lot of things about this that you don’t need, but need and necessity are two different things in this case. Take the capsule.’

  ‘Do I seem like the kind of man who is going to panic?’

  ‘No, but we’ve come too far to start taking risks.’

  ‘I’m not taking it. I need a clear head for this.’

  ‘You don’t. Francesca will put you in position. You’ll be told when you’re in range. You just need to be able to push a button.’

  ‘I’m not taking it,’ Victor said again.

  ‘Then Dietrich is going to get his knife wet early. What should be cut off first?’

  ‘Just take it,’ Coughlin said. ‘For your family’s sake.’

  Victor took the pill from the tray with the thumb and index finger of his right hand. He put it in his mouth and used the same hand to pick up the glass of water. He brought it to his lips and took a drink. He swallowed.

  ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ Hart asked.

  Victor placed the glass back down on the tray. He cleared his throat.

  ‘He didn’t swallow it,’ Francesca said. ‘It’s still in his mouth.’

  ‘He’s not going to be that stupid. Are you, Kooi?’

  Victor didn’t answer. His lips remained closed.

  Francesca was insistent. ‘I’m telling you it’s still in there.’

  ‘Check his mouth,’ Leeson said.

  Hart approached Victor, who backed off a step. Leeson motioned to Dietrich, who moved behind Victor.

  ‘Hold still, compadre,’ Hart said.

  He used one hand to grip Victor’s jaw and pull open his mouth. Victor didn’t resist. Hart peered inside.

  ‘Lift your tongue up.’

  Victor did.

  ‘He’s clean,’ Hart said. ‘He’s swallowed it.’

  ‘You heard him cough,’ Francesca said. ‘He could have brought it back up.’

  ‘There’s no capsule in his mouth,’ Hart said.

  ‘Make him take another one.’

  Hart shook his head. ‘One is more than enough for someone his size. He takes two and he’ll barely be able to walk. He’s taken it. He’s not going to risk the lives of his loved ones for the sake of a little pill.’

  ‘Correct,’ Victor said.

  ‘It won’t take long to get into your system,’ Hart said. ‘And it won’t last long either, but that doesn’t make too much difference to you. Just don’t drink any alcohol with it.’

  ‘Now that’s out of the way,’ Leeson said, ‘I think we’re good to go.’

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  The embassy stood on Via Gaeta in central Rome, on the north side of the narrow road. It was impossible to miss with its imposing perimeter wall and fence and the flag of the Russian Federation that rippled in the breeze. The surrounding wall rose almost two metres in height and the steel fence that topped it added another three. Barbed spikes the shape of arrowheads further secured the fence and metal sheeting ran along the rear of the posts to block the gaps between them. A pale grey paint coated the entire arrangement and provided a stark contrast both to the building guarded by the barrier and to its neighbours. Antennae and satellite dishes bristled on the roof. Lights sunk into the grounds uplit the embassy at regular intervals, creating deep shadows between the russet bricks of its façade and glowing bright off the Tuscan columns that flanked the entranceway and supported the balcony above.

  Towards the east end of the building’s southern façade, the main entrance faced Via Gaeta from behind the exterior gate with a narrow stretch of grounds between the two. Vehicles had access to the compound from larger gates in the western and eastern perimeter fences. The fence to the north of the embassy was heightened by an additional three metres to secure the complex from the neighbouring property. The front gate was open and manned on the outside by two Italian police officers who seemed happy enough with the unchallenging role of providing embassy security – or at least the appearance of security, because the embassy had its own Russian guards for protection. Victor knew they wouldn’t be as carefree as the Italians on the pavement, who ignored him to appraise Francesca at his side.

  The two officers smiled and waved them through. The grounds ran the length of the building’s front, five metres wide at its greatest point, then expanded out on the western side and in the rear. Tall trees and plants dotted the perfectly maintained lawn. A terrace protruded from the west wall and overlooked the embassy garden.

  A couple were in the process of being processed when he stepped inside with Francesca. Two well-dressed embassy security staff performed efficient simultaneous checks, one tracing the contours of each visitor with a metal-detecting wand while the other examined the invitations and compared the names with those on the guest list.

  ‘Keep thinking of your family,’ Francesca whispered, looking at the security guards, ‘and don’t do anything to encourage them to search you. Okay?’

  Victor neglected to respond. He desired to be searched even less than Francesca wanted him to be. Being discovered to be wearing a suicide bomber’s vest beneath his tuxedo wasn’t going to help him get out of this any more than it would Lucille and Peter.

  ‘The vest won’t set off the wand,’ Francesca whispered as they neared.

  ‘Are you trying to convince me or yourself?’

  She didn’t answer because the guards had finished with the couple ahead and were turning their way. On the far side of the entrance hall two attendants took coats from the guests and hung them on a wheeled hanger, giving them tickets in return.

  The guard with the guest list said, ‘Good evening. May I see your invitations, please?’

  ‘Of course,’ Francesca said and opened her clutch bag to hand the man the square of card.

  ‘Sir,’ the second guard said to Victor and gestured for him to raise his arms.

  Francesca was watching while the guard examined the invitation and searched for the name on the guest list. She was nervous, but she hid it well with a little smile that feigned amusement at the novelty of the wand. There was tension in the skin around her eyes as her gaze flicked between watching Victor’s own for signs of rebellion and the wand that passed over, then under his arms, along his flanks, down the outsides, then the insides of his legs, and over his chest, stomach and back. It crackled and beeped quietly as it detected the zip of his flies, his belt buckle, cufflinks, phone and watch. The ceramic ball bearings embedded in the explosives gave no reading.

  Francesca couldn’t stop herself sighing in relief when the wand moved from Victor to her, but she was quick to disguise it with a chuckle.

  ‘It’s quite exciting,’ she said to the guard.

  He nodded, polite and placatory.

  The one with the guest list said, ‘Please head in that direction,’ and held out a hand towards a wide corridor.

  ‘Enjoy the party,’ the one with the wand added.

  Francesca smiled. ‘I’ve no doubt we will.’

  ‘It’ll be a blast,’ Victor said.

  She shot him a look, but controlled her expression. They walked past the two attendants waiting to collect guests’ coats and then side by side through the entrance hall and into the corridor as directed. Behind them, other guests arrived and the guards repeated their checks, to the curiosity of those not used to such security and the sighs of those who were.

  Francesca gestured for him to plug in the mobile phone detonator and watched as he did while shielding him from any possible onlookers. She then removed her phone from her purse to message Hart. She was careful to ensure Victor couldn’t see the screen but from the movement of her thumbs he saw she typed out a single word. She waited for Hart’s confirmation and put the phone away.

  ‘Next code is due in twelve minutes.’

  Victor stopped and faced her. ‘It’s not too late to put a stop
to this.’

  ‘And why would I want to do that?’

  ‘Because you don’t want to be responsible for potentially dozens of people being killed by an explosion.’

  ‘But it’s not me who will be responsible. You’re the one who will kill them.’

  ‘You’re making that possible.’

  Over her shoulder he could see guests handing coats and other belongings to the attendants. A tall man with pure white hair received a ticket for his raincoat and his wife’s fur and warned the attendant that he expected both back without a single speck of dust.