Keeping with Killers (The Salingers Book 1)

by Adam Nicholls

  This would be so much easier with Greg. The silver-haired man had helped him so much to a point, but he was alone now; alone with the guilt of having left him to die. Maybe he won't die, Blake kept assuring himself, unconvincingly.

  Trying to focus on the task, he turned his thoughts back to Rachel. He would have to play this real smooth and, worst of all, he would have to leave right now. His nerves rattled like he was in school and it was his turn to give a presentation. He had always tried to avoid confrontation where possible, but too much was at stake.

  Risking losing sight of her, he dropped the binoculars into his duffel bag and retrieved the mobile phone he had bought earlier. He got the number ready on the screen, his thumb hovered over the green dial button. This was one of the moments where he felt so proud that he had thought to get the number of the payphone across the street–he hadn't imagined he would have thought of it. But now the reality struck him. Now, when he dialled the number, he would be opening a can of worms that he wasn't sure he could digest.

  Blake pressed the button, snatched up his binoculars, and climbed to his feet while raising both devices up to his head. In another world he might have felt in control. But as ready as he was, this could go south really fast.

  Rachel's face didn't move when the phone in the square began to ring.

  Blake panicked. Please answer. He envisioned his whole plan hitting the ground before it even got the chance to run. But then it seemed to register with her. She glanced around, then approached the phone and picked it up.

  'Hello?' She sounded wary.

  'Rachel, it's me.' He had thought of everything except how to phrase this, and whether or not she would go along with it. 'Do you know you're being followed?'

  'I…'

  'Don't lie to me, Rachel. Our lives are in the red here. Trust me and I can help you.'

  There was a long pause.

  The black handset looked huge against her tiny pink ear, which was reddening in the blistering winter air. 'I think there are people here, Blake.'

  'What people?' he pressed. 'Police?'

  'No, I don't think so.'

  Blake took his eyes off her for a second, looked over to the guy by the fountain. He was stood now, his eyes fixed on her. He began to take small, unsure footsteps, like a lion ready to pounce if the gazelle looked ready to run.

  'Okay,' said Blake, both proud of himself and terrified that his guess had been correct. 'You have to do exactly as I say, no matter what. Do you understand?' He saw her nod and her lips move, but he didn't hear the words. 'On my say-so, go straight up the steps to your right and get on the 88 bus. As soon as you get on, move to the back and get ready to step off. They will follow you but don't panic.'

  For just a moment, she looked like a frightened little girl.

  Blake fell in love with her all over again, but he couldn't think about that now.

  'Go, Rachel. Go and don't look back.'

  She dropped the phone onto its cradle but missed. It fell and began to swing on its cord.

  Blake threw the phone and binoculars into his bag, zipped it up and left it there. There was no way he could carry it with him now. He just hoped that kids wouldn't find it, rummage through and find the gun.

  Sprinting back inside, the door swung and hit the wall as he burst through it. He took the steps two at a time. When he reached the lobby, Blake darted for the exit, receiving some dirty looks from the middle-class as he went.

  Outside, he caught sight of the bus he had told her to get on.

  The crowd was thick. He couldn't see her.

  Greedy pedestrians struggled amongst themselves to be the first onto the bus, pushing and shoving where they needed to. Blake couldn't see Rachel. But he wouldn't lose her now. He ran towards them, screaming and squeezing between them. 'Get out of the way!' His own voice surprised him.

  People turned and sneered down at him as if he was something they had stepped in.

  'Move!' he yelled, sliding his arms between them with hopes to separate. He had to move fast, but he was probably making too much noise. If the Agents - or police, whoever they were - saw him then it would be game over.

  Then he saw Rachel, stepping up onto the bus.

  Behind her, the man who had been leaning on the fountain.

  Blake hoped he wouldn't turn around. He quieted himself, swallowing his words, then took a step back and watched Rachel board the bus. Through the glass, he saw her moving straight to the back, just as he had instructed.

  Please, Rachel. Please, please get off.

  The man followed closely behind her, not paying his way onto the bus.

  Blake stepped back, blending into the crowd. From there he watched them both, silently hoping, barely noticing that he was mouthing a prayer.

  Rachel sat down.

  No! Blake felt this entire attempt fall flat. He would no longer be able to help her–probably wouldn't be able to save himself either. He watched the man scowl as he was forced to sit in front of her. Blake's heart sank, and he was no longer sure of what to do.

  Rachel had been the only person he could trust in this whole mess. Without her, he would be a rolling stone forever, and now it would be impossible to get in touch with her. All eyes would be on her, just waiting for him to make contact. That was if - if - they didn't punish her for trying to get away.

  The bus's engine grumbled, the door hissed, and it slowly began to move.

  Rachel stood, swung around, and dove off the low step of the moving London bus.

  Blake rushed towards her, a sudden excitement springing new life into him. As Rachel stumbled, he caught her arm. For a second he studied her; her face a beetroot colour as she thrashed around before realising that he wasn't an Agent.

  'Blake.' She looked as though she hadn't seen him in years.

  'We have to move,' he told her, watching the man hurry to the back of the bus as it drove away. It was going too fast now, and there was no chance of him jumping off it without landing on his face.

  Rachel nodded, pushed her arm through the loop in his. Together, they stalked away from the crowd and moved along the wall of the nearest building. Blake hadn't thought this far ahead. He was improvising, but had no idea what he was doing.

  'There are more of them,' he told her. They rounded a corner and took the steps back into the Underground. A train was lurking there, filling up and getting ready to zoom off into the blackness of the tunnel. 'In case they're still following,' he nodded at the train, 'it might help if they think we're on that.'

  As soon as the doors closed and the train began to pick up speed, they marched across the platform, still arm-in-arm, and took the next set of steps up into the daylight. Blake was leading her, trying to keep his cool and walking at a normal speed. But his fear occasionally caught up to him, and he picked up his speed to get away.

  He glanced around, making sure they weren't followed.

  Nobody up here, he was relieved to find.

  Blake knew this area; it was just off Piccadilly. He used to come here every morning before work to get his coffee. Somehow, he didn't think that would ever be happening again.

  'Where are we going?' Rachel's voice quivered.

  'Somewhere safe,' he said in his most soothing tone, and led her into the nearest alleyway. It was an impulse really–he had no idea if they were in the clear, but he hadn't seen anybody suspicious-looking. That was probably a good sign.

  Halfway through the alley, Rachel stopped dead in her tracks and pulled her arm away. 'I'm so sorry,' she said, shaking her head at the floor. 'I knew they would be there.'

  It had been obvious to Blake, but he had barely stopped to think about it. 'It's okay. You shouldn't be involved in this.' He was just realising this for himself. Then again, he shouldn't have been involved either.

  'They said you would contact me.' Tears were rolling down her cheeks, taking her makeup with it in black streaks. She leaned back into the wall for support, her knees giving way under the trauma.

  'Who
said that? The Agency?'

  She waved her hands around. 'Them.' She'd obviously had no idea who they were, only that they were bad news. 'I had to. I had to get you in their sights and I feel bloody horrible for it. But they were threatening my mother. I'm a horrible person.'

  In her entire life, Rachel had never let him down until today, and the times his failure had caused problems for her were countless, to say the least. Blake looked around him; each end of the alleyway looked onto different streets. He was slowly getting used to learning his surroundings. 'It's okay,' he finally said, kneeling down to comfort her. 'However bad you feel, you can make it up to me later. Look at me.' He raised her chin, held it between his forefinger and thumb. Her eyes were a smudged black. Red and white mixed in the centre. 'But right now,' he went on, 'we have to go. It's not safe here.'

  Rachel nodded, sniffed, and clambered to her feet, using Blake's arm for support.

  'Good. Okay, we need to–'

  Fear closed over him - like a black-out blind - when he saw the man stood at the opening of the alley. He wasn't one of the men Blake had seen at Trafalgar Square, which only led to further panic.

  How many of these guys are there?

  Blake took her arm again, and he led Rachel away. She hadn't seemed to spot him yet and he didn't want to worry her. His eyes trained on the man for a few more cautious seconds, and he began to take her through to the other side of the alley.

  As he turned, two more men appeared at the opposite side.

  They were trapped.

  Blake had no idea what to do. He couldn't fight these men. Only hours ago, back in his father's kitchen, he had been in the first fight of his life–and he'd had his arse handed to him. When it came down to facing three trained men in a game of fisticuffs… well…

  He backed away, holding onto Rachel, who was sobbing uncontrollably. Blake reached into the back of his trousers for the gun that wasn't there. He immediately regretted leaving it on the rooftop.

  'Who are they? Make them go away!' Rachel's tone was pleading.

  Blake couldn't help her.

  The Agents closed in on them.

  The man who had been stood by himself got to them first, but didn't lift a finger. 'Mister Salinger. You're a slippery little bastard, aren't you?' He was grinning, pushing his thick black glasses up his nose. 'Miss Lawrence. Lovely to see you again.'

  Rachel has met this man before? Was he the one who had threatened her?

  She gasped, as if she recognised him now that his face wasn't in the shadows.

  The other two men came to join them. They were backed up against the wall.

  'You can leave now,' he said to Rachel. His wry smile suggested that it wouldn't be as simple as that. They were towering over them both, their very presence intimidating.

  Rachel hesitated, looked at the end of the alleyway and then looked to Blake. As if to apologise - as if to accept the consequences of what she had done - she clung harder to Blake's sweat-stained sleeve.

  'Very brave, Miss Lawrence. But stupid. You didn't have to die with him.'

  He drew his gun.

  Blake stared at the weapon.

  He felt Rachel's head lower into his chest, and she whimpered. He held her tight, closed his eyes to accept his fate. He had put up a good fight; tried to help her in every way. At least he could die knowing that he had not been a coward.

  The gun's hammer clicked back. For a fraction of a second, Blake heard it fire.

  Chapter 20

  The girl had been easy enough to find–Greg knew where she worked. In all the craziness over the past few days, it was almost easy to forget that other people were going on with their everyday lives. Still, it had been his choice to join The Agency, as it had equally been his decision to detach himself from it.

  Matthews's car had come in handy too. It wasn't like he needed it any more. He had taken it into the city and pulled up across the street from the office building.

  The air was getting colder and the sky threatened a thin drizzle of rain. Greg watched with a smile curving his lips as pedestrians ran indoors, throwing up their hoods and umbrellas as if the world was coming to an end. Thankfully, he was safe and sound in the car.

  Congestion charge for Matthews.

  A couple of hours rolled on by and his target came out from the big glass doors. She probably would have caught his eye anyway–she was his type of woman, but he immediately recognised her from the photograph on Matthews's phone. She looked even more attractive in real life though. Under different circumstances, he may have approached her and worked his infamous charm on her–snatched her right out from under Blake's nose.

  Down boy. Now isn't the time.

  Rachel threw up her hood and crossed the street. Greg reached for the door of the car, held his hand there steady so he could jump out as soon as she passed him. When she did, he hopped out, discarded the keys and merged into the crowd. He thought it a shame to wave goodbye to the car, but The Agency would be looking for him as soon as Matthews failed to phone in, and that was routine.

  It had always been like that. for as long as he could remember, they would have to make a call every hour, five hours, or whatever amount of time the mission details specified. Though it was easier in this day and age, with technology becoming what it was. Mobile phones were a very useful invention.

  Greg stayed close to Rachel for as long as he could. He hated to tail people in this kind of environment. Too many shop windows offered an eye over the shoulder. On the plus side of that, though, there were enough people swarming around to conceal him.

  The woman headed down into the Underground, and he followed close behind, still keeping as much distance between them as possible. He passed a young Asian man - obviously a tourist - who had a baseball cap resting on his luggage as he studied the complex maze of maps. Greg snatched it up and placed it right on his head, taking on a fresh new appearance.

  Rachel got on the next train.

  Greg followed.

  Inside the carriage, two teenage boys were rapping and drawing quite the crowd. Greg moved away from the fuss, pleased that the attention was on them. With his back to Rachel, he could see her reflection in the glass. She looked distracted, forlorn, and seemed not to notice anybody or anything that was going on around her.

  They got off at Charing Cross.

  Greg padded up the steps right behind her.

  Where are you going?

  She got to the top, emerging into the open and stopped, blocking the stairs. She removed her hood as the rain stopped, the clouds breaking apart to reveal the blue sky.

  He stopped right behind her, also in everyone's way. For a moment he panicked, but then she took a nudge from an angry passer-by and continued on across to Trafalgar Square.

  Greg hadn't been here in years, and not much had really changed. The fountain was always as it had been; huge and round and dead in the centre. The black lion statues were still standing as expected, and pigeons took every liberty to shit on unsuspecting tourists.

  Slowing down, he stopped at the top of a small set of steps that led into the square. He leaned his elbows on the railing and watched her as she took a seat on the stone step at the bottom. From there he could watch without being seen.

  I hope it's Blake you're waiting for.

  Greg glanced around but couldn't see anybody familiar, and certainly nobody who stood out from the crowd. He huffed, his wounded knee causing a pain in the cold air, and traipsed around the square, wishing he could get a view from a rooftop. As he moved around, he spotted a colleague stood beside the burger van, which was pumping out the enticing scent of grilled meat.

  Parker.

  If it hadn't been for his headset and suit, he may not have noticed him. But in this environment, he stood out like a sore thumb. It hadn't taken long for Greg to notice the standard-issue shirt and tie. He flicked an eye at Rachel, making sure she stayed put, and pulled Parker behind the van.

  'What–' His surprise was obvious, a little
funny.

  Before he could react, Greg jabbed his fingers into the man's throat. The Agent began to slump, but Greg caught him, sat him down gently on the floor and unhooked the headset. It would come in handy, at least until they realised they had a man down.

  He took his hat off, slid the earpiece around his ear and covered it again with the sweaty baseball cap. This was the thrill that he enjoyed, that had kept him in The Agency for so long. The killing was one thing, but this cloak-and-dagger shit was what he was made for.

  Right now, he was one of the people, and he looked the part. Greg moved around and stood by the condiment table of the burger van.

  Rachel was still on the step.

  Greg assessed the situation as best he could, hoping nobody would notice the unconscious suited man laying by his feet. If Parker had been watching her, there would be others too. And if they hadn't made a move yet then they must have been waiting. But waiting for what, exactly, Greg had no idea.

  He had barely had time to formulate a plan before Rachel stood and moved across the square. Pigeons flew urgently out of her path, the way woodchips fly from the blade of an electric saw. She looked around her, but didn't seem to spot him.

  What are you up to?

  Greg inched forward, ready to follow her, when she entered the phone box and lifted the receiver to her ear. Just then, a voice crackled in his ear.

  'Parker, are you in position?' The voice was startling. Greg didn't recognise it.

  If the speaker had to ask his absent partner, then he must not have been able to see him, Greg thought. That was a relief; knowing he could move more freely for the time being. He had his eyes trained on Rachel, who looked like she was about to make a bolt for it.

  'Parker–report in.' The distracting voice again.

  Greg clenched his fists, stepped forward. Then he spotted it; by the fountain stood a man, the same brand of earpiece hooked around his ear. The man - more obviously an Agent - kicked himself off the fountain and moved towards Rachel.