A Time to Die

by Tom Wood

  She said, ‘I’m sorry about your situation, if it helps.’

  ‘It doesn’t.’

  ‘I won’t tell you that you can trust me. I know such a claim would be meaningless right now. I won’t say I’m the one who is different from all the rest. I won’t insult your intelligence. But I didn’t have to tell you about Banik’s death. I could have let you continue with the contract and you wouldn’t have been any the wiser, would you?’

  Victor remained silent because she was right. However he looked at it, it made no sense to tell him about Banik’s assassination if she wasn’t being truthful now.

  ‘So,’ she said after a moment, ‘will you do the job?’

  ‘Are you staying in Belgrade?’ Victor asked.

  ‘Yes, until this is over. But this is Dennis’ turf. He’s attached to the Embassy, so he can assist you. He knows this part of the world well. He knows land. He knows people. He can get things done. You have a problem, he can help solve it.’

  Victor looked at the big, out-of-shape guy who lost his cool over a blank memory card. ‘He can’t even solve his own problems. No, thanks.’

  Dennis said, ‘Whatever.’

  The woman shrugged. ‘It’s your choice. Please know that, if you need anything, I’ll be waiting to assist you.’

  Victor said, ‘What are you offering?’

  ‘Anything,’ Monique said. ‘And everything. Whatever you need.’

  ‘Whatever I need?’ Victor echoed.

  She nodded. ‘That’s right. I can act as backup, surveillance, logistics, intelligence. Whatever you need me to do, you only have to say.’

  ‘Intelligence?’ Victor said. ‘It’s funny you should say that when SIS gave me bad intel from the very start. Rados isn’t a drug dealer. He’s a people trafficker.’

  She looked at the guy in the front seat, who shrugged in response.

  ‘How do you know that?’ she asked Victor.

  ‘Because I’m doing my job. Women are more precious than gold, to use Rados’ own words.’

  She frowned. ‘Wait, what? His own words? You’ve heard him say them or have heard that’s what he said?’

  ‘That’s what he told me himself,’ Victor said. ‘Didn’t I mention it? I’m working for him.’

  Her eyes were huge. ‘You’re what?’

  FIFTY-TWO

  For a second she looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language she didn’t understand. ‘You’re working for him? You’ve actually met Rados? You’ve spent time in his company. Yet… he’s still alive?’

  He said, ‘Rados has been walking free unopposed for six years.’

  ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘I don’t have one. Do you?’

  She was quiet.

  ‘He’s paranoid,’ Victor said. ‘He hasn’t given me an opportunity to kill him. These things take time. I still have five years and three hundred and fifty days before you are allowed to criticise my pace.’

  ‘Noted. I’m surprised, that’s all. I didn’t expect you to have located him this soon. And I never expected you would have infiltrated his organisation too.’

  ‘I’m a fast worker,’ Victor said, ‘but he hasn’t really been hiding. If you had known how to look, you would have found him years ago.’

  Dennis made sure his gaze was anywhere but Victor.

  ‘I guess we should have hired you sooner,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘I can’t take all the credit. He’s done a lot of the work for me. He’s done some spring-cleaning recently and needs new recruits. I’m on probation, you might call it.’

  ‘Everything I know about Rados suggests he’s insular, that he wouldn’t use an outsider like you.’

  ‘True enough, but I think he’s modernising. I think he realises that his crew is made up of hard cases when to succeed he needs hard thinkers. Aside from that, I think he likes me.’

  Her eyebrows formed perfect arches. ‘He likes you?’

  Victor nodded again. ‘He called himself an emperor surrounded by barbarians. He likes to think of himself as a philosopher. He likes to think he’s an intellectual. Whether his men really are as lacking as he believes is irrelevant. It fits his narrative to think that. It elevates him, satisfying his ego in the process, but there is a price to pay for that satisfaction. Because he believes himself to think at a higher level than that of his men he derives no pleasure from conversing with them.’

  ‘What does he get from you exactly?’

  ‘I’m able to talk to him on his level. It’s not often I get to talk openly with someone and that resonates with him, even if my reasons for doing so are duplicitous.’

  ‘It does sound as if he likes you,’ Monique said again. ‘But it also sounds dangerously like you feel the same way about him.’

  ‘He’s a target,’ Victor said.

  ‘A target who you’ve been getting to know. Is that going to be a problem? Before you make a pithy retort, I’m asking as part of me watching your back.’

  ‘Is it a problem that you like that handsome asset of yours? The one with the nice smile and strong back.’

  She said, ‘How did you know about —’ but stopped herself.

  It had been a carefully generic statement. She probably ran two dozen assets. There was bound to be at least one man she found attractive. Her lips pursed because she was annoyed at herself for falling into his trap.

  ‘Well played,’ she said. ‘I won’t question your objectivity again.’

  ‘It’ll save us both a lot of time if you don’t question me at all.’

  ‘In which case I won’t mention there have been reports of gunfire several nights ago. At a scrap yard linked to Milan Rados. I won’t ask if that was anything to do with you.’

  She watched his face, waiting and expecting a reaction, whatever he said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Victor. ‘That was me. Who else would it be?’

  ‘Belgrade police are investigating. Even if Rados doesn’t want cops sniffing around, they can’t ignore it – people heard gunshots.’

  ‘Gunshots are loud.’

  She waited a moment, but when it was obvious he wasn’t going to answer, she said, ‘I won’t ask you to tell me what happened.’

  ‘I’m doing my job. It’s not all going to be smooth sailing. If it was easy to kill Rados, you wouldn’t be paying me so much money, would you?’

  ‘Going back to Rados,’ she began, ‘what else can you tell me about him?’

  ‘He’s psychotic, but he believes himself to be highly rational. He puts a high value on intelligence and mental fortitude. I demonstrated those things to him early, which put a big mark in my favour.’

  ‘Even if you do say so yourself.’

  Victor said, ‘I don’t think I’ll respond to that.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Continue, please.’

  ‘This is all one long interview,’ Victor said. ‘He’s tested me a couple of times, and I’ve passed so far. Hopefully that means if I can continue to do well I will no doubt gain more of his trust.’

  ‘It sounds like he wants to offer you the job. It sounds to me like he’s hoping you prove yourself worthy.’

  ‘I’ve drawn the same conclusions.’

  Monique watched him with a careful gaze. ‘It also sounds to me like you’re actually considering it.’

  ‘That depends,’ Victor said.

  ‘On what?’ she asked.

  ‘On whether he offers me more money than you.’

  She sighed. ‘I’m not going to rise to that. You do what you need to do and we’ll watch your back.’

  ‘Make sure you keep out of my way,’ Victor said. ‘Both of you. I work alone. You watch my back while I kill Rados, but you do it from afar.’

  She showed her palms. ‘Like I said, do it your way.’

  ‘If you’re lying to me about anything at all I’m going to kill you.’ He looked to the man in the driver’s seat. ‘And I’m going to kill you too.’

  She stiffened and the guy looked p
ale.

  She said, ‘I’m not lying.’

  ‘Then I’ll do it. Because I believe you’re telling me the truth now.’ He stared into her eyes. ‘But you need me to believe you later too.’

  She swallowed, but held his gaze. ‘Perhaps we’d work better together without the threats.’

  ‘I don’t make threats,’ Victor said. ‘What I’m doing is establishing the rules and ensuring you both know who you are dealing with. Because, whatever your previous priorities, your new number one goal in life is to make sure I don’t see either of you as my enemy.’

  She took it well. ‘We’re taking a risk associating with you, as you are with us, so we can at least be cordial.’

  ‘I assure you, this is me on my very best behaviour.’

  FIFTY-THREE

  The rain had stopped. The city looked drowned. Belgrade meant white city, but now it was grey. Buildings were wet and dark. Puddles lined the kerbs and filled the grooves between cobbles. Trees were weighed down by rainwater, soaked and crooked.

  Victor nursed his coffee in a well-heated kafana while he conducted counter surveillance and considered what the British woman had told him – Banik’s assassination, and his handler betraying him. Such things were not uncommon in Victor’s world, but familiarity was small comfort. He rubbed his thigh.

  On a table across from him a woman was using a laptop. She wore a green sweater with white flowers and wore large headphones. Throughout the entire time he drank his coffee she had a constant smile. Victor couldn’t help but wonder why she was so happy. At another time, in another life, he might have asked her. Victor looked away before she noticed his gaze.

  Banik selling him out meant the danger he was in was real and close, but he behaved the same. He operated on the assumption that enemies were always closing in, so there was nothing more that could be done. He was on the lookout for the German assassin with greying hair but he was careful not to give himself tunnel vision. Anyone could be a threat so he assessed everyone he met, and whom he might meet. He noticed height and weight and body composition the way regular people noticed hair and eye colour. He examined bone density, limberness of movement and strength of posture. He looked to the intensity of gaze as much as their breadth to determine threat, because a person needed the willingness to use their strength for it to be effective. Speed and reflexes were harder to assess, as was skill, but a person’s physical appearance was only one of many signs of potential threat.

  A person’s gait told him a lot. The length of stride and the speed of movement revealed flexibility and agility. A tall man with long legs may have a long stride and cover distance faster as a result, but slow strides suggested a general slowness of movement, due to a lack of cardiovascular fitness or inflexible joints. Both had measurably different effects in a confrontation, but were equally valuable for Victor to exploit.

  He sat near the window so he could see who was nearing the kafana before they entered. His chair was small and uncomfortable, but he enjoyed the rare swathe of sunlight that found its way through the clouds to his face. The street outside the window was narrow, one lane, and had little through traffic, letting him check for threats with relative ease.

  A man turned on to the street and walked in Victor’s direction. He was in his early forties, tall and broad – waist as well as shoulders. His hair was short and neat and thinning, but still had plenty of orange and red hues. His face had a permanent flush. His eyes were blue behind smart glasses. The grey suit was inexpensive but fit well. His black oxfords were old but polished.

  Victor saw him as physical, but rusty. He had the natural strength gained from plenty of protein and calories, but his lifestyle was sedentary. He might throw a volley of effective punches, but he would be exhausted by it.

  No threat.

  The man didn’t notice Victor looking, didn’t notice the assessment and evaluation, and continued on his way.

  The next was a lot younger. He came from the opposite direction. His hair was blond and wavy, swept back from a high forehead and receding at the temples. He had a sparse growth of stubble, darker and thicker than his hair. There were shadows under his red-rimmed eyes. He had a boyish face but he carried a man’s width in his upper body, across his chest and shoulders. His clothes were casual and unrestrictive. Victor’s gaze lingered a moment longer.

  He was in shape, but his neck was thin and his back narrow. The young guy exercised, but was building muscle for aesthetics, not power. He was fit and young, but tired and weak. He looked eager – for food; for knowledge; for purpose – but nothing more.

  No threat.

  The waiter asked if Victor wanted another coffee, so he paid his bill, walked a while, then caught a bus. He didn’t check its number or its route. He didn’t know where it was going, which was the point. If he didn’t know, no one else could; no ambush could be prepared for him at his destination. A man with glasses caught the bus at the next stop. He was out of breath.

  The bus was busy and Victor had to stand, as did the man in glasses. Victor made sure to keep him in his peripheral vision at all times, because maybe that man was out of breath because he had been following Victor on foot and had been forced to sprint ahead of the bus. The man wore a leather jacket and tan scarf. He was about thirty, short but strong.

  The man played with his phone, as most people did. Standing helped Victor assess the other travellers. The prevalence of mobile phones and other devices helped with identification of potential threats. On trains and buses people looked down. They always had, to an extent, with newspapers and books, but it was even rarer now for eyes to be looking up or ahead. Victor liked that, even if he stood out with no handheld device to distract him. It was hard to be watchful without appearing so. It was the thing that gave away most surveillance. It was easy to be anonymous – to be one more person in the crowd – but hiding in plain sight was no use if the target slipped away.

  The balance between anonymity and awareness was almost impossible to perfect. It was fluid. It varied with circumstance, situation and surroundings. It was influenced by opposition and their intent, as well as Victor’s own objective. Like any other aspect of Victor’s profession, compromise was key. A loss in awareness here might help him stay unseen and therefore lessen the necessity for that awareness. Else, if in making himself more visible he had nothing to lose – if the enemy were already aware of him or knew he would appear – then it might assist his ability to identify and hence counter the threat.

  A kid ate six marshmallows from a packet, so Victor left the bus at the sixth stop. He waited at the stop until the bus had faded into the distance. The man in glasses had stayed on the bus, never looking up from his phone. On the pavement, a woman with a pushchair smiled and waved, stretching her hand higher and higher in an effort to catch the attention of someone Victor couldn’t see.

  He stayed on the move. He didn’t know Belgrade well and that helped keep his routes and method of transport random. His threat radar hummed the entire time. Every car that passed him seemed to slow down as it neared. Every person seemed to have their jacket unzipped. Every window had a shadow behind the open pane.

  He saw him again – the man wearing glasses. Short. Strong. Leather jacket and tan scarf. It was enough to make Victor change direction. Not because he wanted to lose the man, but because he wanted to see if the man followed.

  He did.

  It was all Victor needed to know. Seeing him twice could be put down to coincidence, but three times was too many to ignore. Victor paused outside a street vendor, a fishmonger selling off the last of the day’s fresh stock cheap, for cash only. Old women fought for the best of the remaining fish and haggled over the price. Victor joined the small crowd and acted like them – perusing fish and ignoring the smell, gaze passing over the polystyrene boxes, wet with melted ice and blood, old and stained – but used the time and the excuse to glance up and watch the street in the plate-glass windows of a florist next door. He didn’t look to see what the man in
glasses was doing. He didn’t need to look to know he would have slowed or stopped to maintain distance. Looking would achieve nothing except alerting the shadow that Victor had made him.

  He crossed the street, walking at a slow, casual pace. A crowd was huddled under the scaffolding outside a bank because someone was lying prone on the pavement, having fainted or otherwise been taken ill. Some people were trying to help, others just wanted to see what was happening.

  Victor veered towards the crowd, so that he had to thread and weave and sidestep through the mass of bodies. In doing so he had the excuse to survey a wide angle of the street. The man in glasses was nowhere to be seen.

  Which was a serious problem.

  Victor hadn’t been trying to lose him, so the man had voluntarily held back. A shadow would only do that if he feared he would be made otherwise, or because other shadows were taking over.

  The first was simple enough to identify because he knew what he was doing. He wore the right clothes and carried himself in the right manner and acted in the right way someone stalking a target should. It was a process of elimination. There were several men in the vicinity who could be Victor’s enemy, but he ignored those who were too old or too young or too out of shape for a competent professional.

  A strong-looking forty-something was dismissed because he wore thick gloves to fight off the cold. Those gloves were no doubt effective at keeping digits warm, but would make it hard to slip an index finger through a narrow trigger guard or allow fine enough purchase to cock a hammer or release a safety catch. A handful of men wore bulky coats that would weigh them down or risk becoming caught on objects or trapped in doors. They too were dismissed by Victor. As were those with zippers or buttons fully fastened, keeping out the wind chill but restricting upper body movement.

  In the shelter of an awning a man sipped from a big thermos flask of steaming coffee or tea. Caffeinated beverages would not be drunk because of their diuretic effects. Even if the coffee or tea was decaffeinated, no assassin on the hunt would choose to compromise his hands – his ability to attack and defend himself – with such an unwieldy object, especially one that he left his DNA on and could not be disposed of as readily as a waxed paper cup.