A Time to Die

by Tom Wood

  ‘No,’ Victor said. ‘Because I didn’t know who I was coming to meet. But if this wasn’t what I had asked for, he would be his own bargaining chip.’

  Hector was slow to understand what Victor meant, but Rados grasped it straight away.

  ‘And is this what you asked for?’ the Serbian asked.

  Again, there was no harm in honesty here, so Victor said, ‘Yes.’

  Rados gave a smile, then commanded Hector, ‘Leave.’

  The fixer looked more than happy to do so.

  When the back door slammed shut, Rados said, ‘You’re looking for work.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Have you ever killed a man?’ Rados asked. He spoke as if the question was insignificant, even if Victor’s answer would not be.

  Victor said, ‘One or two.’

  ‘What are you?’ Rados asked. ‘You don’t strike me as the bone-breaker type.’

  ‘I think of myself as a counsellor.’

  ‘And what is it on which you offer counsel?’

  ‘Whether a person remains alive or not.’

  ‘I see,’ said Rados. ‘Any notable hits you can tell me about?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s my job to make sure they’re not notable.’

  ‘Then how do I know if you’re any good?’

  Victor said, ‘You’ll just have to take my word for it.’

  Rados’ nails drummed on a worktop. ‘Hector told me that you are Hungarian. Is this correct?’

  ‘That’s what my passport says.’

  ‘I don’t like Hungarians as a general rule. I find their sense of humour is too dissimilar to our own. I find them impolite.’

  ‘You don’t need to like me to hire me,’ Victor said. ‘My humour isn’t going to help grow your business. My politeness offers no protection.’

  Rados’ head rocked from side to side as he thought about this. He said, ‘But I do have to like you to let you live.’

  Victor shook his head. ‘You’re not going to kill me. You need men. That’s why I’m here. You don’t interview someone if you don’t have a position for them to fill. And when you need to bolster numbers you’re certainly not going to lose more taking me down.’

  Rados considered for a moment. ‘You’re pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?’

  ‘Not really,’ Victor said. ‘I know what I can do. I’m pretty good at working out what other people can do too. Usually, I hide both those abilities.’

  ‘But not now with me?’

  ‘Would you be more likely to hire me if I undersold myself? I don’t think so. You don’t want guys at your side who are modest. No one in your business respects the meek.’

  ‘How do you know what I want?’ Rados asked.

  ‘You wouldn’t even be here if you didn’t need new recruits.’

  Rados took his time responding. ‘You’re right, I do need men. Normally, I would not deal with such things, but a recent setback has caused me to undertake a little… let’s call it corporate restructuring. If I can’t trust people to run my business properly, how can I trust them to repair the damage they have caused?’

  ‘Is that a rhetorical question?’

  ‘Of course,’ Rados said. ‘But why would I consider hiring someone I knew so little about, and an outsider, a foreigner, at that?’

  ‘Because we’re talking, so regardless of those concerns, you must be considering hiring me.’

  Rados swiped some imperfection from his lapel. ‘Or maybe I’m waiting for more of my men to turn up, to make sure I don’t lose anyone taking you down.’

  ‘In which case you don’t believe these three are enough to deal with me cleanly, even if I am unarmed, which means you think I’m dangerous, which means you think I’m someone who could be useful to you.’

  Rados stared. ‘Are you as crazy as you appear to be?’

  ‘I’ve been toning it down,’ Victor said.

  Rados held his gaze. ‘Let’s play a game. A hypothetical one. No winner, no loser. Purely for fun. You say you’re a proficient killer, so how would you complete your mission if you were hired to kill… me.’

  Victor didn’t blink. ‘With a rifle, after I had worked out your movements.’

  ‘So you’re a good shot.’

  ‘I learned to shoot long before I knew how to write.’

  ‘Headshot or body shot?’

  ‘Body,’ Victor said. ‘Chest.’

  ‘Why not the head? You said you were a good shot.’

  ‘I’m an exceptional shot,’ Victor said, without hubris. ‘But I’m hired to do a job, not show off. Dead is dead.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you be concerned about a bulletproof vest under my jacket?’

  ‘There’s no such thing as bulletproof. And even the most state-of-the-art covert body armour isn’t going to stop a large-calibre, high-velocity round.’

  ‘What kind of a rifle would you use?’

  ‘First choice would be a Dragunov. I’d settle for a Chinese copy.’

  Rados said, ‘Why? There are more accurate weapons.’

  ‘I like Soviet weapons. I like reliability. The most accurate gun in the world is no use if it misfires.’

  Rados said, ‘Okay. But why kill me with a rifle at all? They’re hard to move. They’re hard to hide. Why not a bomb or a pistol?’

  ‘I don’t like explosives if I can help it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t like killing people I’m not paid to.’

  ‘But you like killing those that you are?’

  ‘I don’t mind killing them.’

  ‘Funny. So why not a knife? Simplest weapon to use. Easiest to hide.’

  ‘I don’t work with knives as a general rule,’ Victor explained. ‘I don’t like to make a mess, especially on myself. A knife isn’t the weapon of a professional. They’re for people who enjoy their work too much, or for those who have no self-restraint.’

  Rados gestured and one of his men reached into his jacket, drew out a shiny Beretta gleaming with polished nickel plate, and presented it to Rados. ‘Okay, why not a handgun like this? I take it you don’t have any objection to handguns? Less risk of mess than with a knife, but easier to conceal than a rifle.’ He took the weapon from the man’s grip and pointed it at Victor’s head with a swift, graceful motion. ‘Faster to aim too.’

  Victor couldn’t see them, but he sensed the two heavies were nervous. Maybe because they were worried Victor might attack in response, or maybe concerned about getting his brain matter on their clothes.

  He remained casual and said, ‘With a pistol I would need to be close. You have a whole crew for protection and I’m not especially suicidal these days.’

  Rados was quiet for a moment. He stared at Victor along the iron sights of the pistol. At this range, the Serbian couldn’t miss.

  All Victor heard was the shuffle of feet from the heavies. Like Victor, they had no idea what Rados was going to do or say next.

  Rados flexed his thumb, drew back the hammer, and the weapon cocked.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  For almost a minute Rados held the gun steady, aiming at Victor’s face, his index finger wrapped around the trigger, tensed and applying pressure, but maybe four of the required six pounds. Victor didn’t know if the Serbian was testing his resolve or his patience, but he knew he had to maintain both.

  ‘What’s your background?’ Rados asked.

  ‘I’ve worked in Minsk and London in recent years,’ Victor answered.

  ‘Who for?’

  ‘Danil Pentrenko in Minsk and Andrei Linnekin in London.’

  ‘I don’t know this Linnekin, but I’m familiar with the name Pentrenko. King of Minsk, he liked to call himself. Our paths crossed a few times. But not since he disappeared a few years ago.’

  ‘That’s when I stopped working for him.’

  ‘What about before that? You didn’t always work for criminals.’

  Victor said, ‘I was in t
he military.’

  ‘I knew that from the way you stand. Special Forces?’

  Victor nodded. ‘For some of my service, yes.’

  ‘And which particular unit would that be? Spetsnaz? SEALs? GIGN? GSG9? SAS?’

  ‘You know your berets.’

  Rados shrugged, but the pistol remained steady. ‘Which one?’

  ‘I’ll keep that to myself,’ Victor said.

  ‘Soldiers are for the battlefield, but this is civilisation. At least, a watercolour of civility. Your drill sergeant didn’t teach you how to watch a room and where to stand to keep my bodyguards in your peripheral vision.’

  Victor remained silent.

  ‘So…’ Rados began, thinking. ‘You were seconded to an intelligence agency while you were in Special Forces or else that’s where you ended up after you left the military. Before you went into business for yourself, I mean. Which is it?’

  ‘Perhaps both.’

  ‘I’d like to know which unit we’re talking about. I’d like to know who you spied for.’

  ‘I’ll keep that to myself, if it’s all the same to you.’

  Rados said, ‘Because you’re not Hungarian?’

  ‘I’m whatever my passport says I am.’

  ‘Funnily enough, I believe you mean that. I believe you’re a lycanthrope, shifting your shape to whoever you need to be.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Rados stepped closer. ‘Do you even remember who you really are?’

  ‘I remember a time when I remembered.’

  Rados smirked and lowered the Beretta. He set it down on the worktop and stood still and quiet for a moment. His jaw was set and his lips tight. His gaze burned into Victor’s own.

  ‘Your Serbian is excellent. Where did you learn it?’

  ‘I’ve worked with quite a few Serbs in the past.’

  Rados pursed his lips for a second. ‘In the war?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘But you’re not denying it either.’

  ‘I’m good with languages. It doesn’t take me long to pick one up. I could speak three before I set foot inside a classroom.’

  ‘Which languages were those?’

  Victor didn’t answer.

  Rados said, ‘You want me to hire you without knowing you.’

  ‘The only person we can ever truly know is ourself,’ Victor said. ‘For everyone else we put on an act. I am at least honest about my disguise.’

  ‘Some acts are easier to see through than others.’

  Victor remained silent.

  Rados said, ‘I too was a warrior, once. You may not think it to look at me now, but I was fearsome. Never the biggest or the strongest, but a warrior’s might comes not from his muscles but his mentality. The will to win and the fortitude to swallow fear are your two most important weapons. Unlike you, a mercenary, I fought for a cause. And yes, I looted and I gained glory, but I went into that battle to protect my people. Have you ever done such a thing?’

  ‘No,’ Victor said, with as even a voice as he could muster.

  ‘Then you do not know the clarity of righteous combat. You cannot comprehend the strength you gain from the unshakeable knowledge that you are pure and your enemy is sullied.’

  ‘Napoleon said God is on the side with the best artillery.’

  Rados laughed. ‘I like that quote, but Napoleon was a fool, drunk on his own perceived invincibility. He could have ruled the world had he but known humility.’

  ‘Are you humble?’

  The Serbian thought about this. ‘I have no desire to rule the world.’

  ‘Just this corner of it?’

  Rados smirked, but didn’t answer. Instead, he said, ‘Weakness draws only aggression from the strong and sympathy from the weak.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.’

  ‘You will,’ Rados said with confidence. ‘You will.’

  Victor said, ‘My time is valuable, Mr Rados, so if you only want to chat I’m afraid I need to leave.’

  ‘You can leave when I say you can and not before.’

  In his peripheral vision, Victor noted that the two guards, who’d become relaxed and even bored during the conversation, had now straightened. They recognised the tone of their boss’s voice.

  Rados stared at Victor. Victor let him.

  ‘Okay,’ the Serbian said after a moment. ‘I can indeed use a man like you in my organisation. I’m an emperor surrounded by barbarians, so perhaps it’s time to diversify.’

  Victor remained silent.

  Rados said, ‘If I hire you, it would be on a trial basis.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘I’ll test you.’

  ‘Of course you’ll test me.’

  ‘If you fail…’

  ‘I won’t fail.’

  Rados reached into his inside jacket pocket. Victor didn’t react because the Serb had a gun within easy reach on the worktop; there was no need for him to pull out another weapon. Rados dropped a strap of currency next to the Beretta.

  ‘Yours,’ Rados said. ‘Think of it as a retainer.’

  ‘You’re hiring me then.’

  ‘I’m willing to put you on probation, yes. The money is an act of faith. An aperitif for banquets to come – provided you prove yourself. Take it.’

  Victor stepped towards the worktop, pretending he didn’t notice the watchfulness in Rados’ gaze. Victor reached a hand out towards the money and the shiny handgun alongside it, pictured grabbing the weapon at the last instant and shooting. Not at Rados, but his two men, taking them down with double-taps. First the one on the left because Victor wouldn’t have to turn to face him – reaching across his chest would be enough. Then swinging his right arm in a wide arc as he twisted his hips and changed his footing to face the guard on the right. He would kill them quicker in that order. He could then kill Rados at his leisure.

  An act of faith.

  He watched Rados watching him, and took the money, leaving the pistol where it lay on the worktop.

  Victor knew a test when he saw one.

  He slipped the strap of cash into an inside jacket pocket. He didn’t count it, but there was two or three thousand there. Some useful spending money, if nothing else.

  Rados raised his eyebrows, as though he had half expected Victor to take the gun, but there was no hint of relief because he had been in no danger. The gun was empty or loaded with blanks, Victor was certain of it.

  Rados said, ‘I’ll need your phone number.’

  ‘I don’t have a phone.’

  ‘You need one if you work for me.’ He gestured to one of the guards. ‘Give him your phone.’

  The guard didn’t argue. He reached into a trouser pocket and came out with an old handset. He handed it to Victor.

  ‘No smartphones,’ Rados said. ‘No personal calls, and no business discussed on the phone. Just details: times, locations, orders. You destroy the phone after a week and buy yourself a new one. Understand?’

  Victor nodded. ‘I understand.’

  Rados stepped closer and regarded Victor. ‘Meet me at my club in an hour and we can discuss how to move forward.’ He gave the address and Victor made a mental note of it. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do.’

  ‘I look forward to showing you.’

  Rados nodded and Victor took it as his cue to leave. One of the guards saw him out of the auto-parts shop.

  ‘Get lost,’ the guy said.

  Victor said, ‘Pleasure to meet you too,’ and headed towards where the old BMW was parked at the dealership. Hector was leaning against the boot, smoking a cigarette.

  ‘No vapour device?’ Victor asked.

  ‘I need the real thing,’ Hector said. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘I walked out of there in one piece.’

  Hector nodded. ‘You understand why I couldn’t tell you, right?’

  ‘I do,’ Victor said. ‘But you would have made my life a lot easier if you had.’

&n
bsp; It was a shame not to have been ready to take advantage of this encounter, but if Rados hired him then there would be other, better situations to exploit. He could gain the valuable insider intelligence about Rados’ organisation that he wanted, but also learn more than he could have hoped about his target in the process.

  Hector was nervous. He was rightly scared of Rados, but now he was scared of Victor too. His senses were sharp. ‘You’re not angry with me?’

  ‘I don’t get angry,’ Victor said.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The auto-parts shop was quiet. The faint rumble of an engine could be heard as a car drove by, then a soft scrape of metal as the man in the denim shirt took the nickel-plated Beretta from the workshop. Rados’ men said nothing when their boss said nothing; in part out of reverence, in part fear, but one could not hold his tongue any longer.

  The man in the denim shirt said, ‘I don’t like him.’

  Rados tilted his head to acknowledge the comment, but said nothing in return. Instead, he thought. He pondered.

  The man in the denim shirt continued: ‘He’s dangerous.’

  This time Rados chose to respond. ‘I dearly hope he is.’

  Rados’ man knew when it was in his best interest to shut up.

  ‘Let’s see how our guests are getting on,’ Rados said.

  He strolled across the empty space to a door that led to a corridor, which in turn led to a storeroom. The interior was cold and furnished only with steel shelving units holding cans of oil and spray paint, tools and spare parts. The smell of motor oil was strong and hid the stink of blood and urine.

  Four of Rados’ men cowered against the far wall. They were naked, bruised and bleeding. One had pissed himself. Another’s face was slick with tears. These were the men who had failed him at the scrap yard.

  ‘I’m sorry to have kept you,’ Rados said, his tone soft and almost reasonable. ‘I hope you have found the facilities here to your satisfaction. I hope you have no complaints about the level of service. We value all feedback.’

  No one answered. Only one of the men – Zoca – was brave enough to look Rados in the eye.

  ‘I have been thinking how to handle this,’ Rados said, brow furrowed in careful consideration. ‘One girl dead. Another girl ruined. Plus, there were cops who had to be paid off to ignore reports of gunfire. That is the part I dislike the most. Not losing almost a quarter of a shipment. Not your failure. But having to bribe police officers. They steal from me and I have to let them. I have to smile as they rob me.’