by Mark Dawson
Milton looked out into the bay and to the Topaz.
De Lacey was there.
Was he asleep in one of the luxurious cabins that Milton remembered from his time aboard the yacht's predecessor?
He found himself wondering what he would do if there was no response to his message. A direct approach would be impossible. The boat was anchored in the bay, for a start, and that alone would make an assault impossible. He could take a boat, but it was difficult to imagine how he could get aboard that way. He could swim out to the yacht, but then he would be limited in the equipment that he could take with him. He remembered from before that there would be a well-armed security detail in place to protect de Lacey. Milton would be outnumbered. He would need more gear than he could transport underwater.
He closed his eyes, aware that he hadn't slept. He thought of Jessica, and the shape of Logan's fingers in the bruises around her throat. Logan had paid the price for what he had done, but that was only half of the revenge that Milton was minded to exact.
He needed this to work.
He went back inside.
"Have they responded?"
"Not yet."
"What about Polemos?"
"It's not easy."
"That doesn't help me."
"I told you—Polemos is registered in Vanuatu. You know how secretive it is over there? It makes Switzerland look wide open."
"I know that. But you said—"
"I'm trying, Milton. You know how it works? The directors of Polemos appoint nominees in Vanuatu. The nominees sign powers of attorney to hand control back to the directors. But no one knows who the directors are. There's nothing recorded online. And if there isn't, there's nothing for me to hack."
"I need to prove that de Lacey made the payments. I need it in black and white."
"I'd have to get into the bank in a big way. Not possible in thirty minutes."
"How long?"
"A few days."
"De Lacey's going tonight."
Ziggy shrugged. "I don't know what to say."
Milton closed his eyes and tried to remember back to the time before, when he had been closer to the centre of de Lacey's circle.
A thought occurred to him.
"How much of the Polemos paperwork is publicly available?"
Ziggy looked at his screen. "The nominee declaration. That's there for everyone."
"Show me."
"Hold on." Ziggy worked for a moment and then started to read. "I, Richard Taylor, Director POLEMOS LTD, having agreed to the appointment as Director of a company duly incorporated under the laws of Vanuatu, hereby declare that I shall only act upon instruction from the beneficial owners—"
"Not him. Keep going. The names. Just give me the names."
"There are five," Ziggy said. "Cocks. Sparks. Connors."
"The last one," Milton cut him off. "Is it Olsen?"
Ziggy looked up in surprise. "Yes. Marthe Olsen. How did you know that?"
"I remember it from when I was with de Lacey before. He has companies all over the Caribbean. I remember the name of one of the nominees."
"Why that one?"
"Marthe Olsen is my ex-wife."
"I didn't even know you were married."
"It was a long time ago. The names were a coincidence. It stuck in my—"
"Shit," Ziggy said.
Ziggy had absent-mindedly refreshed the Gmail page. The draft email that they had saved had been deleted and replaced with another.
IT'S DONE. WHY DO YOU NEED TO SPEAK?
"What do you want me to say?" Ziggy asked.
"Give them the website."
Ziggy switched windows and navigated to the home page of the Manila Bulletin. The lead story was headlined BILIBID JAILBREAK SPARKS MANHUNT. Ziggy copied the URL and pasted it into the email. He looked up at Milton for approval.
"Do it."
Ziggy pressed save.
He waited, and then refreshed.
INCLUDING OUR FRIEND?
"Say yes. And say that you have news, and that you need to meet."
Ziggy typed in the message and saved it.
Milton found that his stomach was clenched tight with nerves.
Ziggy refreshed the browser.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
"They're thinking about it," Milton said, more to himself than to Ziggy. "Come on. Come on."
Ziggy refreshed for a third time, and a new message had replaced the old one.
WHERE ARE YOU?
"Tell them we're at the Conrad."
Milton clenched his fists and tapped them against his thighs.
Ziggy refreshed.
BE OUTSIDE AT 1200. WE WILL SEND A CAR.
78
HICKS AND Josie arrived shortly afterwards. She was walking with the aid of a stick, her face bearing witness to the pain that each fresh step was causing her.
"Josie," Milton said. "How do you feel?"
"Like I've been shot through the leg."
She sat down, wincing.
"You should—"
"Don't bother telling me I should be in hospital," she interrupted testily. "This needs to be finished. And I want it to be done properly."
"That's fine. Me, too."
"Hicks wouldn't tell me what happened. He told me to ask you."
"Mendoza's dead."
“Fuck,” she sighed. “And Logan?"
"The same. They both are."
She closed her eyes. "Damn it, Milton."
"They got what they deserved."
"That's not the point. What happened?"
"You saw," Milton replied. "Logan shot Mendoza."
"Why? To clean up?"
Milton nodded. "Things were starting to look messy. Too many variables. He didn't want anything to lead back to him."
I would have done the same, Milton thought.
"And then?"
"And then you did what I told you not to do and you got shot because of it."
"I know that," she said, laying her fingers on the spot on her thigh where the bullet had winged her. "After that?"
"I shot him."
"Did you get what you wanted?"
"Some of it."
Milton kept the content of his conversation with Logan—and especially its conclusion—to himself.
"What about the bodies?"
"I put them in Mendoza’s car and torched it."
She sighed and shook her head. "Of course you did."
"It's important that Logan isn’t identified today."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want de Lacey to know that he’s dead."
"Because this isn't finished?"
Milton shook his head. "No," he said. “Nowhere near.”
"What are you going to do?"
"Do you want to be involved?"
She didn't answer at once.
"Josie? Hicks said that—"
"I think I'm done with the police."
"Why? You're a good—"
"Don't patronise me, Milton," she said. "I know I am. I know I'm good. But it's not that. Things have never been as bad as they are now. I thought, when I enrolled, that I'd be able to make a difference. But that's naïve. Men like Mendoza are everywhere now. They think they can do whatever they want. Maybe they can. Maybe. And you know what? I'm not just naïve. I'm selfish. I have Angelo to think about. He's already lost his father and then I got shot last night. I was lucky. It could’ve been worse. So I swore to myself that I’m never going to put myself in a position where he might end up losing his mother, too."
"So you don't—"
"After this," she added. "That's when I'll stop. But I want to do one more thing the right way before I do. If de Lacey did what you say he did, then he should be in prison. I swore an oath to uphold the law. And so that's what is going to happen. If you want him, it has to be by the book. We bring him in and charge him and then we let the prosecutor take him to trial."
Milton had g
iven his next move careful thought, and the conclusion that he had reached was inescapable: he couldn't easily get to de Lacey on his own. It would be too difficult even though he knew that Hicks and Ziggy would volunteer their help. And, more than the practical difficulties, he knew that he owed Josie. Logan had killed Jessica, and now Logan was dead. He would have preferred to kill de Lacey, too, but there was poetry to the idea of sending him back to rot in the prison that he had tried so hard to leave.
"All right," Milton said. "I'll give him to you."
"That's not enough."
"What do you mean?"
"All I've got is you telling me that he was behind all this." Milton started to protest, but she waved away his objections. "I believe you, Milton. But that's not enough. I need to make a case against him. I can't bring him in just because I believe what you've told me. I need evidence."
"Ziggy?" Milton prompted.
"Evidence,” he said. “Yes. I can help with that."
Ziggy told Josie about the two payments into Logan's account, and that Polemos—the company that had made them—was likely connected to de Lacey.
She listened with an expression that grew more and more incredulous. "So, let me just make sure I'm understanding this. You're making the connection based on the fact that a woman with the same name as Milton's ex-wife was involved in the formation of Polemos and another one from years before? That's it? Seriously?”
"I know it's circumstantial," Milton said.
"Are you out of your minds? And this evidence about the payments," she went on with increasing agitation, "not that I'd call it evidence—how exactly did you get it?"
"I..." Ziggy started to speak, but the words trailed away.
"He hacked it," Milton finished for him.
She put her hand to her forehead. "So you’ve broken the law to get it?”
Ziggy shrugged.
“It's completely inadmissible. It’s useless."
Milton took a breath. She was right, of course. It was useless. Milton didn't need to deal in absolutes. He knew, of course, what had happened and who was responsible. His standard of proof was low. But Josie wanted to do things the right way and, if she was to do that, she would need evidence that would stand up in court.
"All right," he said. "We can do better."
"I really hope so."
"What about if we could get a confession?"
She nodded. "Of course. But how are you going to do that?"
Milton turned to Hicks.
"I'm going to need some help," he said.
79
MILTON TOLD Ziggy to find out everything he could about Logan, and then he went out to the balcony.
Hicks followed. He pointed to the pack of cigarettes in Milton's hand. "Give me one of those."
"You don't smoke."
"I used to. And it doesn't seem like such a bad idea right now."
Milton shook out another cigarette.
"You want me to be him, don't you?” Hicks said. “You want me to be Logan."
Milton nodded. "I can't think of another way."
"And they never met?"
"He never met de Lacey or anyone who works for him. I asked. They don't know what he looks like."
"And you're sure about that?"
"Logan knew he was dying. Being helpful was the only way he was going to save his life. There was no reason for him to lie."
Hicks lit the cigarette and put it to his mouth.
"You don't have to do it," Milton said. "It's dangerous. I'd understand if you didn't want to."
"I'm not saying that."
"I can't ask Ziggy."
"I know," Hicks said with a wry laugh. "He wouldn't last five minutes. Has to be me."
"What do you say?"
Hicks nodded. “Yes.”
Milton put his hand on his shoulder.
“You sure?”
He nodded.
"I appreciate it."
Hicks waved it off. "I still owe you."
They stood together for a moment. The sun was halfway through its climb now, and the big yacht was easily visible in the bay. As they watched, a tender cast off from the dock and bounced across the gentle waves toward it.
"So we lay a trap for him," Hicks said. "And you're the bait?"
Milton gazed out. "I'm the only reason he'll come ashore."
"And if he does?"
"Then we get him to implicate himself."
The tender slowed down as it approached the yacht. There was a boarding platform at the stern, with the bright blue square of the yacht's swimming pool behind it. A mooring line was tossed out and the tender was tied up.
Milton finished his cigarette and ground it underfoot. Hicks dropped his unfinished cigarette over the balcony and followed Milton back into the hotel room.
ZIGGY HAD moved his laptops to the table. They left him alone to work. His eyes were rimmed with red and patchy five o'clock shadow had developed on his cheeks and chin. He looked tired. Josie was sitting in one of the room's armchairs with her leg up. Her hand was pressed against the spot where the bullet had gone in.
“Okay,” Ziggy said after an hour had elapsed.
Milton crossed the room to Ziggy. "How are you getting on?"
"Making progress."
"His service records?"
"That was easy. They're limited, as you'd expect, but I'm in."
"How much can you change?"
"As much as you like. But it's one thing to know that I can change them and another thing to know how much it's safe to change. We need to be careful. It's safer to tweak the stuff that conflicts obviously with what they'll see when they meet you. If we leave the rest, it'll be less likely that anyone notices. Better if you can remember everything else."
"That's fine," Hicks said. "What do I need to know?"
"Your name is William Logan. Let’s start there. We're lucky that he was around the same age as you. Similar build, too.”
“Married?”
“Unmarried."
"So you'll have to take that off," Josie offered, pointing at Hicks’s ring finger.
Hicks reached for his wedding band and worked it off. He dropped it into Milton's palm. "If you lose that, I'll be a dead man."
Milton put it into his pocket and motioned for Ziggy to continue.
"No sign of any relationship. You have an interest in slightly deviant porn—but we can brush over that. No siblings. Parents are dead. You have a flat in Shad Thames owned outright, no mortgage. You have social media accounts, but you haven't posted into them for years."
Milton and Hicks crossed the room to stand behind Ziggy. They looked over his shoulder as he flicked through the various open windows on his screen.
"You joined the Royal Marines at the age of eighteen. One year later, you attended selection for the Special Boat Service in Poole. You were successful."
"No commando unit first?" Hicks said.
"You got an exception. Apparently you were quite the soldier. You served most of your time with the SBS, but had secondments to the SAS and 14 Intelligence Detachment, both times serving in Northern Ireland. You left the Detachment and had a sabbatical for a year before you went back to the SBS, where you were posted to Maritime Anti-Terrorism operations for a year. One year after the posting to MAT you were transferred to MI6. Details are a little more sketchy from this point on. It looks like you left two years ago and went mercenary. There's no reference to individual jobs, although I've found references to you in Africa, South America and the Middle East."
"Is that all?"
"This is all off unencrypted servers," Ziggy protested. "That's the low-hanging fruit. I might be able to get more, but the Secret Service is more difficult. It'll take a lot longer to get through it. And you're meeting them at noon.”
"But?"
"I'll keep working. We just have to hope they don't have a way to get the material I can’t reach in time, or, if they do, that there are no photographs or anything else that would contradict your sto
ry."
"Well done, Ziggy," Milton said.
Ziggy nodded, evidently satisfied with Milton's praise. "Look at this." He moused over and pulled up a new document. Milton looked: it was an internal personnel record from the navy's human resources department. There was a face-on picture of Logan and a list of details including his address and next of kin. Ziggy had unlocked the document and, as Milton watched, he removed the picture and replaced it with one of Hicks that he had taken on his smartphone earlier.
"Very good."
Ziggy's fingers flashed over the keys again. "I'll change the pictures on his social media accounts. When I'm finished, it'll stand up to basic scrutiny. We'll just have to hope it's enough."
"Very reassuring," Hicks said drolly.
"This is crazy," Josie said. She stood, wincing again as she put weight on her bad leg. "Are you sure this is the best we can do?"
"I'm open to alternatives," Milton said. "But he's leaving tonight, so you’d better make it quick."
She shook her head. "I don’t know. It’s just—”
"What's the one thing he wants?" Milton cut in. "Me. He made that a condition before he agreed to work with whoever it was who got him out of jail. He's obsessed. Hicks tells him that I'm still alive, and that he knows where to find me, and I'm betting de Lacey's judgment is affected. He'll buy it. He’ll come after me."
"And when he does?"
"We're going to need backup. Is there anyone you can trust?"
"In the department?" Milton nodded. She paused as she gave the question thought. "My partner," she said eventually.
“What’s his name?”
“Dalisay.”
"See if you can get him to help. We'll need some firepower, too."
"He has a shotgun."
"Tell him to bring it."
“Bring it where?”
“I was hoping you might be able to help me with that. We need somewhere out of the city where we won’t be disturbed.”
“I know the place,” she said.
80