“Yes, and for that I apologise. There are an awful lot of people in my country sir, please do not think that they are all bad. The group you refer to is but a tiny part of our population.”
“Of course, just seems that the awful ones ruin your reputation. Look, what you’ve told me is interesting, kind of borders onto military police territory. But we’ll do our level best to help you. We know a lot of people in the Land of the Long White Cloud.”
“Thank you, sir. Oh, one last question. Does the name Alex Stefanescu mean anything to you?”
“No, not me personally. Should it?”
“I don’t know, but can you look at your system, see if he ever entered New Zealand, either him or his brother Stefan.”
“Of course, that’s easy. Get that request sent and I’ll deal with it personally.”
Grig was now back at the office in central Bucharest. His desk phone chirped into life.
“Sir. Fire Investigators have found two bodies in the hallway. Badly burned, but both neither have gunshot wounds. Looks like it was the two doormen. I guess the pathologist will tell us how they died. Possibly smoke inhalation.”
“Anything else?”
“The apartment fire was caused by a fierce heat. The source is by the main entrance door.”
“No other bodies? Nothing?”
“No, sir. Our targets are not in the building. We think Gheorghiu escaped with the crowd. As for Alex and his brother and our Tourist One target. No idea. Sorry.”
“OK, thanks. I need you to be creative. This tourist, this Kiwi, had balls of steel to walk into the lion’s den and start demanding. I want to know what he wanted. He was clever in the way he got information from our coffee boy, so he’s a pro. Keep asking. Someone will talk now the Jackdaw has flown his nest. If it takes money, offer it.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Hyundai joined the motorway and started its journey north. McCall wished he had rented a more powerful car – seeing as though he wasn’t intending to return it. He offered his newfound partner a stale muesli bar. It was all he’d eaten in days, so why should he be the only one to suffer?
“Are they nice?”
“No. Fucking awful brother, has the texture of damp sand and the taste of rotten apples. But I’ve eaten a lot worse and it will keep you going until we reach France – or at least somewhere friendly.”
“Where is friendly?”
“My guess is northern Europe, but right now we could be in the top three most wanted for all I bloody know. I should have just taken on an overdraft. Would have been easier.”
Stefan knew that ahead lay Hungary, Austria, Germany and Belgium. They had a long haul before they reached Calais.
“It’s two and half thousand klicks to London mate. Can we not just fly? In fact, why do I even need to come with you?” McCall asked the obvious questions in a no-nonsense style which appealed to Stefanescu.
“I know how far it is. And the answer is no. The minute I try to get on a plane, I will attract the wrong attention. As for you, well, you are involved now. The Brits will want to talk to you.”
“But I could do that over the phone. I need to head home.”
“Look, new friend of mine, you cannot head home. I need you to help us hunt down my brother. I’ve seen you operate. It’s a long and boring story, but it starts with a pretty girl in a faraway country, in a fast car, on a quiet road. And I think it ends with you, Mr Bushman.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because there was no other way you could have got those documents before I did, unless you spent more time in the car with her?”
“I have no idea what you are on about mate.”
“Oh, but you do. You are one of the good guys, Mack. I think you saved her. And then temptation got the better of you. The first and only time. However, you saved her and for that I owe you.”
“Say I did. Why was this girl so important to you?”
“This girl? Her name is Elena. She is my niece.”
“Was your niece?”
“Still is.”
“She’s alive?” McCall braked instinctively, veering slightly to the side of the road. He was now very much alert, awake, back in that upturned sports car, feeling for a pulse, admiring the view and willing her to wake.
“Yes. She is. And this is where it gets difficult. She doesn’t know that I know. But I suspect she knows that I tried to kill her.”
“Jesus mate, what sort of animal does that?”
“This type of animal, Mack. It is what the Americans call the long game. And between you and me, I wish I had never started playing it. I blame that weasel that ran down the tunnel before we did. You should have shot him in the head. Shame you can’t shoot.”
He spent the next hour talking through his life over the previous ten years, summarising where necessary, developing, but never embellishing.
“So you trust me? You understand why I did what I did. Now you know a bit more about Elena, perhaps it will help. If you had been minutes earlier the day of the crash, we would have met on your soil and things might have worked out differently. My people believe in fortune and perhaps it will be good for both of us in the end.”
“Of course. The only problem is, I told myself I would find her one day. Hold her hand again and ask her if she was OK.”
“I wouldn’t advise you to do that. Elena is the prettiest girl I have ever seen, but she comes with…” He gazed through the windscreen at a few spots of rain. “She comes with baggage. And she is dangerous if you don’t know how to handle her.”
“I wouldn’t mind trying.”
“Plenty of men before you have thought the same. She is spoken for. A British man. She was sent to get information from him, and important to give him something. She did the first part beautifully. That was until she fell in love with him.”
“Not in the plan?” McCall had her in his mind’s eye as he tried to concentrate on heading north at a speed that would reduce the twenty-six hour drive but not attract attention.
“No. Not at all. You see Nikolina, the woman I told you about? She was sent on a covert operation, at a young age. That mission was to kill my brother. A government in a foreign country sent a girl to do a man’s job. Then she went to England to seek out a person, a friend she trusted, and to gain asylum. But that didn’t work either. It all changed when Alex tracked her down and decided to drown her in the Thames. It was more about a statement than the act itself His men took her from under the noses of the British, who swore an oath to protect her. I am ashamed to say I was there for that too. I organised it.” He rubbed his eyes, blinked a few times. There was a tear there.
“This whole mess has nothing to do with a couple of women, a career criminal and the British government. It all started years ago. The Bulgarians, the Russians and my people, even some of the conventional Western nations. Everyone wanted to get their hands on a set of papers that had been stolen. You would say a hot potato. We have our own phrase. Only the originals were worth anything, like a work of art. We are talking blackmail at international level, Mack.”
Mack was nodding enthusiastically “Worth millions I guess?
“Not millions, not billions. Their value was in the power and influence that they provided. You have no idea of the possibilities. Power over a nation and the potential to divide Europe.”
“Like the stuff of spy novels?” McCall unwrapped another muesli bar with one hand and ate it in two bites.
“But real. Imagine you are a former Soviet-ruled country and you need to move people around, divide up wealth and create strongholds in other countries. You can either do it illegally over twenty years or legally in a week. The plan was to allow countries such as Romania, Bulgaria and a few others to join the European Union. It would give them overnight visa free status across most Western nations. The ability to move their people around, further too, Canada, Australia, even your country. In doing so, it would free up jobs and houses and remove the burden on our
crumbling welfare states. Get Britain to pay for that, too. It also opened up the borders to opportunists like my big brother.”
“Why didn’t the Brits just put a team together and hunt down the perpetrators? Seems easy.”
“You tell me. Perhaps they didn’t want to advertise the fact that the politicians that ran the country were so corrupt that they were prepared to sell their people down the river. So, you see, it is not as easy as you might think. The monarchy in Britain had no idea, still don’t. The people, again, not a clue or there would be riots against immigrants and capitalism, and the industrial chiefs – the ones who keep the United Kingdom profitable? No, not them either.”
“That’s a real mess. Makes my problems seem miniscule.”
“You have problems?”
“I did.” He tapped his pocket. “Now all I have to figure out how to convert these to cash and why I need to come to London with you.”
Stefanescu smiled, he was as tired as McCall and knew he should take over the driving soon. “That’s just it, Mack. You don’t. We stop at the next service station, I drive onto Calais. You say you were robbed and the local police will help you. Then you can head home. But something tells me you came on this journey for another reason. And she has red hair.”
He had a point.
“By the way. I chose not to shoot your brother in the head. For tactical reasons. I could have emptied the magazine into him in a few seconds. I needed to speak to him. Now, I wish I had shot him between the eyes.”
“Me too.” Stefan crumpled the muesli wrapper and dropped it into the footwell. “You are right about one thing, Mack. These muesli bars are horrible.”
“So ungrateful! You can buy breakfast.”
“OK, it’s a deal. I will, I don’t think you should offer to buy two breakfasts with a blue diamond.” He smiled. “Wake me when you’ve had enough of the driving.”
“Roger that.” He wished he had taken the car with cruise control too. All he had to do now was stay awake. He hadn’t slept properly in three days. The signs weren’t good.
As the Hyundai sped north McCall got comfortable, propping his right shoulder into the door pillar. He’d taken a knock somewhere in the previous few hours. Scanning ahead, watching behind. Deliberating, trying to understand what the hell he had got himself involved in.
The car behind caught his eye. A silver, older model BMW, 5 series at a guess. Kidney-shaped grill, mid-2000s. Amateurs living in a big boy’s world.
McCall accelerated gently, up to one hundred and ten kilometres an hour. The BMW matched his speed. He slowed to seventy again, subtly. Once more the silver car slowed. There was only one thing to do. It was late, and they were still a long way from the Hungarian border crossing area. Stefan had been very specific. Turn left well before for the town of Nadiac. ‘We must avoid the border.’
He was programmed to always follow instructions and wished he was now about to navigate through the quiet streets of the border town. For him border meant guards and that in turn meant guns. But they were a long way from that level of civilisation. The next built-up area was a small city called Pitesti, and it was where, according to the map that McCall squinted to read, they had a chance to take control of the situation. He came off the main highway and started to circumvent the small city.
With the street lighting now more prominent, he could see the BMW had followed and could easily make out four occupants. Far from ideal.
He slowed, indicated, and then pulled onto a petrol station forecourt.
Stefan woke. “We need petrol already? Or more muesli bars?”
“Neither.” The calm way McCall answered actually concerned his passenger more than him having a concerned tone to his voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“We may have company. Been with us most of the way. On and off, slowing when I do, accelerating as I accelerate. Let’s just see if they need petrol, shall we? Give ‘em the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps they were just avoiding the border post too.”
“OK. Doesn’t look like cops. Do you have a plan?”
“I do. But not in a town of this size. Too many eyes, even at this time of night. Cameras, too. We want to make it to Calais unscathed.”
He pulled to a stop, checked the fuel gauge and knew that with half a tank they had enough to get to the next stop. “Ready?”
“Yes, but I still don’t know the plan.”
“It’s called Operation See How She Goes.” He smiled, checked the whereabouts of his Glock in the door compartment and wished Stefan had one too.
As soon as he had stopped, he accelerated again, off the forecourt in front of a small delivery truck, and began to head north west again. Within thirty seconds, the BMW was behind them.
“It’s official. We have some admirers. Not even Lewis Hamilton can re-fill that quickly.”
“OK, so now what?”
“You tell me, they are either Alex’s men or the police. I suspect the police would have stopped us a hundred klicks nearer to their home. So my plan is to get to a rural location, then we go for what I call an up close and personal introduction, or as it’s called in the manual of guidance, The Hard Stop. Either that or we hightail it to the Hungarian border and claim asylum!”
“If only. The border post may not be manned. We are outnumbered.”
“Never. Not my motto, mate. Who dares and all that.”
Stefan had no idea what he was talking about, but agreed to go along for the ride.
“Fifteen minutes ought to do it according to my map.”
“What do I do?”
“When we stop, I need you to do exactly as I say. That way it will look more convincing.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
On the north Kent coastline, Carrie and Lucy Thomas also had company. He had been there for a while, loitering in the doorway, watching, deciding who should go first.
He pushed a makeshift stool along the floor. It screeched across the old concrete. That and nails down the face of a blackboard was enough to get her really on edge.
“Hello you two. It’s been a while. Have you had a good day? You must be hungry?”
He spooned cold curry up to O’Shea’s lips. She was so hungry she ate it. She knew if she had any chance of survival, let along escape, she needed to keep her energy levels up.
He switched on a portable spot lamp.
“There, that’s better, now I can see you both.”
He ignored Thomas completely. Constantin had decided that his old lover needed to die in a way that humiliated her, he just didn’t know how. In order to do that, he needed to keep her alive too.
“Here.” He pushed a tablespoon of the dark red curry into Thomas’ mouth, then another, and one more. Then turned to O’Shea and offered another spoonful, with some congealed rice. It tasted like nectar.
She took the water he offered, in gulps, voraciously consuming it. Thomas, too. They were both dehydrated and were beginning to smell worse than the gelatinous curry.
“I think it is bath time for you two lovely people. I’ll be back in five.”
O’Shea managed to crane her neck towards Thomas.
“You OK?”
“No, not really. I’m bloody terrified. He’s lost it. What is he doing? Why doesn’t he just get rid of us? I am of no value to him. You are, but not me. He’s just playing games.”
“Just be strong. People will be looking for us. I know they will. We’ve been missing too long now.”
“But how will they find us? I have no idea where we are let alone the police. This really isn’t good. Shh he’s coming back.”
It was a fair point. Carrie could only guess where they were. As it happened, her guess was incredibly accurate.
Constantin was back with a bucket of water. He cupped his hands into the warm liquid and scooped it onto O’Shea’s body, washing her down, almost worshipfully, taking time to cleanse every part of her, slowly, deliberately. It was far from arousing. She actually wanted to retch. He had always
been bi-curious, and her body was a thing of beauty. She wasn’t a supermodel, but she had a figure that he could best describe as a study by the famous artist Titian. Probably a little more voluptuous.
He could also find beauty in the male physique – if backed into a corner it would be the latter he found more arousing. But Carrie was attractive and he could admire her for a while. She was his to admire, after all.
He placed two bricks under the feet of the table, tilting it slightly, allowing the water to run off and down the drain.
More soap, again, gently rubbed into her naked torso, up and over her breasts and into her neck, gently washing away the stench of days of neglect.
Then he rinsed her hair, added soap, massaged her scalp, quietly humming a tune to himself which neither prisoner recognised. Then he scooped more of the warm water onto her head, cleaning out every last remnant of soap until her hair squeaked under his fingertips.
O’Shea couldn’t help thinking that as a psychopathic kidnapper he would have also made a great hairdresser. She could have almost relaxed.
“There. How is that Caroline?” He used her full name to great effect.
She said nothing.
“I said, how is that?”
“Fine.”
“Fine, what? Did your parents not teach you nothing?”
“It’s did your parents not teach you anything.” Defiant as always.
“Whatever, English is not my first language, Caroline.”
“And only my mother calls me Caroline.”
“Called. Past tense. She is dead. So, how was dinner tonight?”
“It was divine. Best curry I have ever eaten. A bit cool for my liking but scrumptious nonetheless.”
“Good. Then there is dessert for you.”
He produced a can of what looked like whipped cream.
“It’s OK I have had enough thank you.”
“Oh, but this is not what you think it is. Do you think I am weird?”
“No comment, Constantin Nicolescu.” Anything you can do…
Seven of Swords (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 3) Page 33