by Anthony Fox
He steadied his breathing.
At this point there was still no reason for Jenkins to think anyone was following him. Although something about the way he looked back over his shoulder at the top of the stairs troubled Matthews. He didn’t have a plan, only that he needed to get an eye on the target. Still, one thing he did know was that Jenkins was a killer. He was lanky and would possess considerable strength, and he was young, potentially another advantage.
Matthews moved gracefully now down the corridor of the train carriage. Without being around the rest of the team, he suddenly felt more at ease.
He felt he could finally be himself again.
In each carriage the corridor ran down the right-hand side from his direction, with the cabin doors immediately on his left. Each door had a glass window filling the top half of the door and led to a six-seater cabin, three chairs on each side. Matthews was pleased to see with each passing carriage that the train seemed to be relatively empty. The half-glass doors meant he could see who was in each cabin at a passing glance, without having to open the door. He was moving at a much slower pace now, trying to seem like a regular guy looking for his seat. He was making fast work of the search until, half way along the third carriage, he came to a cabin door with the blind pulled down over the door’s glass window.
The blind was made of heavy cotton and was a dark navy blue. There was no way Matthews could make out what or who was on the other side.
He continued past the cabin. He checked the remaining few passengers in that carriage, which were all clear. Now he doubled back to the door with the blind drawn.
Matthews stood for a second outside the cabin and listened. The sounds of muted voices could just be made out, indicating to Matthews at least two people were inside. He couldn’t tell if the voices were male or female, or if there were two, six or ten voices, the noise was so faint. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, his blood racing around his body, but his hands were steady and his thoughts were calm and clear.
He looked left and right. The corridor was empty.
Matthews stepped forward and put his hand on the door handle. He twisted it and pushed the door open all in one motion. He was through with the door closed behind him in the blink of an eye.
Inside the cabin, Matthews didn’t try to adapt to his surroundings immediately. That would come in a second or two. He’d no idea what was on the other side of that door. So for the first moment, he simply tried not to think at all. For all he knew it was just a couple of people trying to get some rest, but Matthews couldn’t assume anything. He just let his instincts take over.
It’s a difficult thing to trust yourself and your instincts entirely in a highly stressed and dangerous situation; for Matthews it’d taken decades of training and experience.
The moment Matthews came through the door, a firm hand gripped his right shoulder.
The hand gripped hard. It tried to spin Matthews towards the position of the owner.
Matthews allowed it and went with the spin. The person’s left hand fizzed towards him in a blur, thrusting towards Matthews’ chest.
Again, Matthews didn’t pay attention to any of this. It was all too quick for him to consciously grasp. He wouldn’t remember the details of the event afterwards.
Somewhere in Matthews’ brain a few small details did register, all at once, in a fraction of a second.
The first was that the figure grabbing and spinning him around was Christopher Jenkins.
The second was that the left hand being thrust toward his chest was gripping a long, thin, black object. It was likely a ceramic knife. Unusual in most circles, but Matthews was familiar with weapons that could be smuggled through airport security. It was aiming for the left side of Matthews’ chest, just above the rib cage. Aiming for an area near Matthews’ heart.
Aiming to kill.
The third thing Matthews’ brain registered was that he and Jenkins were not the only two people in the cabin.
Without thinking, Matthews reacted.
He diverted the advancing knife with his forearm.
Simultaneously he used his other hand to quickly jab Jenkins twice in the throat with the metal part of the car key he was still holding.
The key didn’t break the skin. But judging by Jenkins’ reaction it certainly hurt. Matthews unbalanced him further with a quick shin kick.
The hitman thrust the knife at Matthews a second time. It cut through clothing but not skin.
Matthews gracefully stepped to the side and drove the key in a similar action to swatting a fly from the side of Jenkins’ head. He connected powerfully with the centre of Jenkins’ right ear.
The metal part of the key embedded itself inside Jenkins ear. It remained there as Matthews let it go.
Jenkins gasped with the pain and instinctively moved one hand to the area.
This allowed Matthews to attack, moving so quickly it was as if the actions were rehearsed.
He took hold of the hand in which Jenkins was holding the knife.
He gave Jenkins a brutal kick to the groin.
Then Matthews twisted Jenkins’ hand and drove the ceramic knife into Jenkins’ neck right up to the hilt.
A little blood spurted out. Matthews held on as Jenkins, who’d maintained his own grasp of the knife, tried in vain to save himself.
The hitman clenched his teeth and gargled with a mixture of anger and pain.
Then the blood really flowed.
‘God-damnit!’ Matthews exclaimed as he held on and Jenkins tried to fight. The hitman began to sink backwards against the wall and slowly slide down it.
At first Jenkins stared into Matthews’ eyes, but he couldn’t hold it and looked away, his eyes moving up to the ceiling in defeat.
Matthews held on until Jenkins was slumped against the floor in the corner, the pressure of his body gone.
The whole confrontation lasted only a few seconds, and Matthews didn’t think they’d made much noise. The window blind was still drawn so nobody could see in. However, Matthews couldn’t be sure someone wouldn’t come to check what was going on. He turned and locked the cabin door. When he turned back around, he remembered there were two other people in the cabin with him.
A young man was pressed hard up against the back wall, his arms out in front of him to shield his face, which was turned away. He kept glancing up to see what was happening, then turning away again.
On the opposite side to the man, and also pressed against the back wall, was a young woman. She adopted a rather different position from the man. She was crouched on her seat as low as she could get, with her hands planted next to her feet. Her face wasn’t turned away. Instead, she looked straight at Matthews through narrowed eyes. Matthews thought she looked like a wild cat backed into a corner that would fight for its life if it were forced to. The girl’s eyes did flicker twice toward Jenkins’ body, slumped on the floor, but she fought any urge to look more closely.
‘Names?’ Matthews asked.
The boy looked like he couldn’t understand what was going on and Matthews wondered if they spoke English. Then the girl answered.
‘I’m Assia. He’s Charlie,’ she said warily. Her big, aggressive eyes remained on Matthews.
‘Surnames?’
‘King,’ said Charlie.
‘Young,’ said Assia reluctantly.
‘Stand up,’ ordered Matthews to the pair of them. He was still trying to make sense of what just happened. He turned and removed the knife from Jenkins’ neck, wiped the knife clean on the seat, then picked up the car key and slipped it in his pocket.
He turned back to the couple who sat, frozen, in the carriage.
31
They cautiously moved from their positions. The young man, Charlie, put his feet on the floor, bent forward and vomited. The girl stood without taking her eyes off Matthews. When the boy stood up, he was shaking. Matthews could smell alcohol coming off them. He eyed them as he grabbed Jenkins’ backpack from the seat and opened it. H
e searched through it: clothes and a few personal items. Matthews would check it thoroughly later. He turned his attention back to the couple.
Now they’d stood up, Matthews was able to get a good look at them.
The boy was just short of six feet tall. With a slim build, regular blond hair with a short cow’s lick and pale skin like milk, freckled by the sun.
The girl’s skin was brown, like dark caramel. Her face was etched with premature little wrinkles. She had short, bleached blonde hair spiked down at the ends and big, bright eyes that stood out from the rest of her face. The boy wore baggy jeans and a loose green t-shirt. The girl a plain summer dress.
Any composure remaining in Charlie disappeared as he spoke. ‘We were just heading to Vienna and the train stopped and they told us to get off but then the man jumped on and said he’d hurt us if we made a sound and we’re sorry. We’re really, really sorry.’ He sobbed.
‘This train’s going to Zurich. Vienna’s in the wrong direction,’ said Matthews suspiciously.
‘We came from Zurich and needed to change in Innsbruck,’ said the young woman, Assia. ‘I guess this train goes back the way it came. The guy came in while we were getting our stuff together.’
Is she telling the truth?
She seemed genuine.
‘Listen. I don’t want to hurt you, but–’ Matthews started.
‘If you aren’t going to hurt us, just let us go,’ interrupted Assia. Matthews held up a hand for her to be quiet but she continued. ‘We don’t know what’s going on here, so just leave and we won’t say anything.’
‘Shut up,’ he ordered. ‘I don’t want to hurt you – unless you give me a reason, got it?’
They remained silent. The young man seemed too terrified to look anywhere other than the floor.
‘Understand?’
‘Yes,’ said Assia.
After a moment Matthews told Charlie to answer.
‘Yes,’ he squeaked.
First: ensure they aren’t a threat.
‘Good. I need you to quickly take off your clothes and pass them to me.’
Assia and Charlie both looked at each other worriedly.
‘I need to check you for weapons or phones. This is the fastest way.’
‘We’ll just give you everything we have,’ quivered Charlie.
‘Hmm. Thanks, but I don’t trust you. If you think I’ve got time to hang around, look at the dead guy on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Clothes off. Now.’
Matthews held the knife by his side. Not in a threatening way, but he made sure the couple could easily see it.
The young man stupidly took Matthews’ advice and glanced at Jenkins’ body. He gagged loudly and quickly removed his t-shirt and undid his trousers as he kicked off his shoes. The other one, Assia, stood still for a moment and then lifted her dress over her head and tossed it to Matthews.
How to scare them enough to make sure they keep their mouths shut?
‘Spin,’ he instructed her as he caught the dress, patted it through, and passed it back to her.
Charlie removed his trousers and passed them, along with his t-shirt and shoes, to Matthews, who accepted the clothes but couldn’t help but pause for a second at the sight of the pale, quivering boy wearing nothing but grey ankle socks and a pair of extremely ill-fitting, bright pink women’s lace panties. Charlie looked down at the ill-fitting garment as he noticed Matthews’ odd glance, and seemed just as shocked as Matthews to see what he was wearing.
‘It’s her fault,’ is all Charlie could say, nodding towards Assia and looking like he was about to vomit again. ‘It was a heavy night, and I lost the bet.’
Nobody said anything for a second. Charlie started with an embarrassed laugh but quickly thought better of it. He tried to rearrange the panties but only made things look worse.
Matthews just frowned, and after searching Charlie’s clothes and removing a phone, a wallet and a pen, he told Charlie to spin and threw them back to him as he heard a loud whistle sound from the station platform that indicated the train was about to leave.
Putting the phone, wallet and pen in his own pockets, Matthews waved at the couple. At the moment of death Jenkins had defecated, and the smell was beginning to drift through the cabin.
What’s to stop them shouting for help the moment I leave them? Any call to the police could alert Luque. El Patron seems to be travelling alone, but who knows for sure. The team don’t know, but the man Luque is working for has people everywhere.
He must decide quickly. Right now there was only one way Matthews could guarantee the couple didn’t go straight to the police.
‘You two. With me. Now,’ he said as he removed his own jacket and folded it over his arm so it covered the hand holding the knife. ‘No choice but to take you with me. Do what I say, when I say it, and you can go soon. I promise. Don’t try to run. You won’t get away.’
Matthews grabbed Jenkins’ green backpack and carefully opened the cabin door. He peered out. There were a few people milling around. Nobody seemed to be paying him or the cabin any special attention. He turned and signalled for Assia and Charlie to move.
‘Bring your luggage,’ he said, and the boy struggled with his giant backpack. As much of a rush as they were in, Matthews didn’t want to leave anything for the police to find. He noted the only things he’d touched apart from Jenkins was the knife, the couple’s clothes and the cabin door handle and lock.
There was nothing he could do about the puddle of the boy’s vomit.
The couple tentatively came out of the cabin and stopped alongside Matthews as he closed the cabin door. He checked to see if the pool of blood from Jenkins’ body was seeping out. Relieved to see it wasn’t, Matthews bent and broke the handle to the cabin door clean off and carried it in his hand as he, Assia and Charlie quickly jumped off the train just as the doors closed and it pulled away from the station. Matthews wiped his prints off the door handle and dropped it in a bin. He hoped the smell of Jenkins’ shit wouldn’t draw attention and with a bit of luck the body might not be discovered until the train was close to reaching Zurich some three or four hours later.
Matthews escorted Assia and Charlie through the station, back up the escalators and outside to the nearest waiting taxi. He told Charlie to put his backpack in the boot and they all climbed in. As they got in Matthews warned the couple not to open their mouths under any circumstances and positioned himself between them in the back of the cab.
‘To Feldkirch,’ he said to the driver in English as he palmed the knife under his jacket. ‘Got an extra hundred if we make it in an hour.’
32
The taxi driver was told to stop at a random point on the street. From here, they could go in any one of a number of directions. The driver would have no real idea where they were heading.
He, Assia and Charlie got out. Charlie retrieved his oversized luggage from the boot, Assia her rucksack, and Matthews grabbed Jenkins’ green backpack. He told them to walk side by side up the street, and he followed a step behind. It was standard operating procedure: he could easily see all them and they could hear his instructions clearly, but they couldn’t see him without turning around.
‘What’s going on? Where are you taking us?’ Assia asked over her shoulder.
Matthews didn’t reply. He was still trying to figure out how he was going to explain this to the team.
‘Please don’t kill us,’ sobbed Charlie. The young man was out of shock now and he looked physically exhausted.
‘You see what happened back on the train?’ said Matthews.
Charlie stumbled. ‘No. We didn’t see anything, I won’t even remember your face. I swear.’
Matthews shushed him. ‘Be quiet.’ He told them to take a left. ‘That guy attacked me. I didn’t have a weapon. I defended myself. I’m not the bad guy, but there’s bad people who can’t know the man on the train back there is dead. Least not for a few hours.’
If Luque finds out what’s happened before we
get to him, he’ll vanish. And vanish for good.
They turned right and Matthews told them to keep a steady walking pace. It was dark now and the streets were quiet.
‘My friends are staying in an apartment round the corner. We need you to stay with us for a few hours till this is sorted.’
‘Then what?’ Assia asked guardedly.
‘Then go and do whatever you want.’
‘Why would you bother to just let us go after all this?’ Assia asked.
‘Quiet, Assia,’ said Charlie. ‘Sorry,’ he said to Matthews.
‘Don’t apologise for me!’ Assia shot back.
Matthews shushed them again. ‘I’ll let you go because it won’t matter who knows the guy’s dead,’ said Matthews. They took the next left as the first cherry tree came into view. The street was splattered all over with the red and orange leaves.
‘Nearly there.’ Matthews told them to stop and face him. He wanted there to be no misunderstanding of what he was about to say.
‘The one thing you need to remember, don’t speak till you’re spoken to. That clear?’ The couple nodded. ‘This is the last thing I want, but there’s no other option. One last time. No matter what you hear. Do. Not. Speak. Unless spoken to.’
They nodded again.
‘Clear?’
‘Clear,’ they both answered.
***
Once inside the building they took the stairs to the second floor. At the door to the apartment Matthews could hear raised voices coming from the other side. He paused and took a deep breath.
This isn’t going to be easy.
He reached between Assia and Charlie and knocked twice. The voices inside stopped immediately and Matthews heard the clip clop of shod feet coming towards them, a sound normally associated with women’s shoes, but Matthews registered a heavier weight to the sound that told him Phil Connelly’s brogues were approaching.
Great.
The sound stopped on the other side of the door and a male voice asked, ‘Who is it?’