Headhunter

by Robert Young

  *

  Stepping out of the controlled climate of the aeroplane cabin into the Caribbean afternoon was such a change in temperature and pressure that Campbell almost felt more claustrophobic stepping outside, so oppressive was the heat and humidity closing around him.

  They walked across the tarmac to the tiny airport terminal and pointed at the palm trees and the crystal blue sea past the fence at the end of the runway. Lisa smiled but said nothing, her enthusiasm dimmed either by the sapping effects of the long flight, or by his own infectious tension. Lawson had clearly woken with a hangover and walked in front of them, squinting behind the dark lenses of his Ray Bans.

  Inside they waited for their bags and managed two of three. Lisa's appeared first, a distinctive set of bright green straps wrapped around the case, as much to stand out on the luggage belt as to secure it shut. Lawson's followed, distinct in its own way, simply more expensive looking than anything else nearby, it almost looked disdainful of the bags around it. Of Campbell's own suitcase there was no sign.

  Unloaded in error when they stopped in Barbados perhaps, they told him at the help desk; that sometimes happened. It would probably turn up in the morning.

  With a shrug of acceptance at the seeming inevitability at this latest misfortune they set off in search of a cab and were met at arrivals by a driver holding a card that said ’Scorpion’ in bad handwriting that sloped down the page like the ink could not resist gravity.

  The driver was friendly and chatty but he insisted that the lady take the front seat, since it was only polite and proceeded to devote as much attention to looking at her as at the road, though never once in the eye.

  Campbell rolled his eyes at Lawson after the first few minutes of this, but Lawson was clearly more concerned about his headache than Lisa's honour.

  At the hotel they got checked in and Campbell was directed to the gift shop where they sold shorts and t-shirts, as well as golf clothes. Lawson assured them there were no meetings today so he could get himself some shorts and hit the beach as he had his own plans involving sleeping off the headache. Lisa made a remark about whether Campbell could reclaim the expenses of having to buy new clothes until his bag arrived or whether his insurance would cover it but before they could get anywhere Lawson had slapped a company credit card into his hand and told him the PIN Number.

  ’Get clothes, get a toothbrush, lay off the souvenirs and feel free to load up on cocktails around the pool if you want. I'll catch you later,’ he said and with that he was gone.

  Watching Lawson’s back as he made for the lifts with a porter hauling his bag for him Campbell smiled at Lisa. ‘There is perhaps no more gracious a host than one who hands you his credit card and leaves you to it.’

  ’Cocktails. He told us to have cocktails. That's basically an assignment.’

  ’Lets not fail him then.’

  ’Let’s not. Room first, and a shower. Then cocktails.’

  ’Priorities and decisiveness. Go you.’

  With Lawson out of the picture, the nagging sense of tension lifts a little and eases further when they get to the room which is large and well appointed. Lisa drops onto the bed to test the mattress and then follows Campbell in to the bathroom to marvel at just how much polished marble there can be in one room.

  She hoists her suitcase onto the bed and pops it open, begins unpacking the clothes and digging for her wash bag. Campbell drops into the armchair and watches idly as she does so, his mind wandering pack to the ominous email he’d received from Steve. Don’t get on the plane.

  There’s a feeling been creeping over him these past weeks, a feeling like being stalked in a maze, no idea if you’re getting yourself away from the danger or merely moving closer to it. He feels the occasional leaping flare of anxiety that he is about to round another corner and be faced with something malevolent, but at the same time, that to stop moving will bring the malevolence right down upon his back.

  ’Guess I'll just sit here while you get done,’ he says, trying to snap himself out of it. She makes a face that attempts to convey sympathy at his lost bag and nearly manages it. She’s caught up in the excitement and if she has brought with her any of the trepidation from their discussions before the trip, she’s got a lid on it for now. He considers showing her the email, but decides against it.

  After a few minutes of watching her hanging clothes and arranging toiletries and hair straighteners on the sideboard Campbell has found the remote for the TV and starts searching channels.

  He neither knows nor cares whether what she does next is a deliberate response to having lost his attention to the TV, whether she planned it or whether it was simple spontaneity but no matter the motive, the effect is the same. Campbell stops watching TV.

  Stopping to inspect the unpacking job, hands on hips, she closes the suitcase and slides it off the bed. Then she slips out of her clothes, wriggling out of jeans and peeling her t-shirt over her head. In skimpy panties and a matching bra she picks her wash bag up and trots to the bathroom and then stops at the door.

  His eye is on her backside as she looks back at him and she feigns a look of reproach.

  ’I'm going to shower. So stay here and don't go bursting in on me when I'm wet and soapy OK? That would be terrible.’

  Campbell half smiles, half nods.

  ’No bursting in. Particularly no bursting in, taking your clothes off and joining me to scrub my back. Or front.’

  A quarter nod, full smile.

  ’Good. That's clear then. No bursting in. Don't know why I keep saying it. I've probably just gone and planted the idea in your head now,’ she says and slips into the bathroom and clicks the door shut softly behind her.

  Campbell is up and undressing just as soon as he snaps out of the daydream which he realises is only delaying itself from becoming reality.

  He's down to his boxers when the phone rings.

  ’Mr Campbell?’ asks a female voice, the accent determinedly neutral.

  ’Speaking.’

  ’We have you and your companion booked onto our scuba diving excursion in twenty minutes. Do you still intend to go or should I cancel the booking?’

  When Lisa hears the bathroom door open and his padding footsteps across the tiles she applies a last burst of foaming shower gel to herself and waits for the curtain to open. A hand appears dangling something that she cannot make out through the steam and the soap running into her eyes.

  ’Get your kit on,’ he says and pulls the curtain back.

  It is her swimming costume. He holds a towel in his other hand and has changed into the shorts, t-shirt and flip flops that Scorpio Capital just bought him in the gift shop.

  She waits for an explanation but he says nothing.

  ’Dan. What?’

  ’We’re going diving. We’re booked on an excursion.’

  ’My eyes are up here,’ she says as his own stay fixed on points lower.

  ’Mm hm,’ he mumbles. ’I know where your eyes are,’ he says and then looks up and smiles.

  She reaches for the towel and he withdraws it. ’Ah ah.’

  ’Stop messing about,’ she says.

  ’You need to rinse.’

  She snaps the curtain back into place as he makes no sign of moving and begins to rinse away the soap.

  ’Sorry babe, but reception just called to say that we’re booked onto their diving excursion. We have to be on the beach in ten minutes.’

  Her sense of disappointment and rejection fades at the prospect of diving the clear tropical waters and seeing some of the sights she saw in the in-flight magazine for herself.

  ’Who booked that?’ she asks as she steps out and takes the towel from him.

  He shrugs and hands her the bikini he had been dangling in the steam earlier. ’Who cares? Lawson, or whoever at Scorpio has sorted the trip out. Bit of a welcome to Grand Cayman hospitality before the hard work starts. Good way to clear the jet lag.’

  ’Why did nobody mention i
t when we checked in though?’

  Another shrug. ’Just get dry so we can get wet.’

  FORTY FIVE

  They head down to the beach via the watersports shop where they are kitted out for wetsuits and fins - Lisa is reminded by the smiling attendant that they are not called flippers - and a buoyancy control device, which is like a large inflatable waistcoat. Its purpose is principally, as the name suggests, for buoyancy control. It is attached to the air supply and can be inflated or deflated depending on whether the wearer wishes to sink, hover or rise in the water.

  Campbell is the more excited by the prospect of a scuba diving excursion in the clear tropical waters surrounding Grand Cayman and offers to carry all the kit to the boat. Lisa, still carrying some pent up tension, seems less enthused until they climb aboard and she begins to feel the gentle tide beneath the keel and the warm sunshine on her skin.

  They get checked in and stow their gear and although Campbell’s watch tells him they are five minutes late, he immediately gets impatient for the off. For the first time in a long time he is able to put things to one side and focus on enjoying himself. This will be fun. It has been some time since he dived, not keen on doing so in the colder, cloudier waters of the UK, not when so far it has only been in the clear welcoming warmth of the tropics. But off on a boat, away from all things Scorpio, just him and Lisa, he can allow himself to forget it all for an hour or two.

  Looking around the boat there’s quite a crowd getting ready for the off, expectant faces and sunburn. Campbell sees what mix it is; couples, a small family with teenage children, a few middle aged men who have the look of the corporate away-day about them and above all he notes, they all as though they have money. Especially the short haired aloof looking guy sitting talking to a burly, tough-looking man who Campbell concludes, must be a bodyguard. They don’t look a natural pair and there’s a certain quiet respect being observed by the bodyguard that speaks of a relationship not founded on friendship and warmth.

  The aloof, rich-looking man shoots Campbell a look and he’s suddenly self-conscious about the gift shop clothing. Is the man sneering at him? As though he senses instinctively that Campbell does not belong here amongst all this money.

  He is made to wait a little longer as the guide begins his welcome-aboard speech and runs through some basic safety with them all. He is wrapping up, promising to do the rest of the talk once they are underway when he is interrupted by two latecomers who sling their gear over the side and jump in without waiting to be invited.

  ‘Sorry, bit last minute,’ says one and begins searching for space to stow his gear along with his companion. Both are tanned and sinewy, and whilst the one who spoke has short cropped blonde hair, the other seems to have landed somewhere between two different hairstyles, a sort of shark-fin Mohican on top, with an ultra short buzz cut on the sides.

  The furrowed brows and lack of eye contact with the guide gets his eyes rolling behind their backs and he makes a show of waiting for them, before saying ‘If you’re good then gents?’ in an arch tone.

  Both shoot him a look and a brisk nod and get back to squaring things away before giving a cursory look around the seating on either side of the boat and then making for the spots either side of Lisa.

  Campbell looks to catch the attention of the one trying to squeeze in between them as Lisa complains at the unceremonious manner in which the other inserts himself into the too-small space.

  ‘Hey!’ Campbell begins to protest and the dive guide intervenes.

  ‘OK guys, careful there. Can we just get settled and get going?’

  The man between them grunts and waves a hand. ‘Yes. Let’s go.’

  ‘Thank you,’ says the guide in the same arch tone. It draws a look from the surly man and Campbell feels himself start to tense. This is no place for a confrontation, but these guys are pushing it.

  Guys, he reminds himself. Plural. They don’t strike him as the rich playboy type, or even the new-moneyed Russians that stand out so much, making the wealthy American tourists that he’s seen around the hotel and resort look positively understated.

  The few words that have been spoken gave nothing away in the accent and Campbell wonders whether they are off-duty bodyguards for someone. The physique, the attitude. It would make sense, he supposes. Or perhaps some self-important, hyper-successful hedge fund guys running on the rocket fuel of ego and testosterone and still harbouring admiration for Patrick Bateman, American Psycho, but missing the satire.

  Campbell is about to tap the one next to him on the shoulder to suggest they switch places but the dive guide has switched on a microphone so he can be heard above the sound of the engine and the waves. The feedback makes everyone wince.

  ‘OK, guys. I need everyone to listen for a few minutes whilst we run through things. Safety first and then we’ll take you through the itinerary and some of the things that you can expect to see today and a little bit about the islands.

  ‘Now, you see off in the distance there, a white line across the ocean, like lots of waves breaking all in the same place?’ They all turn to look toward the horizon and the thick line of foam and surf about a mile and a half out.

  ‘Well, that is what is known around here as The Wall. Where the beach drops down under the sea,’ he says and points back to shore, ‘the seabed falls away gradually and bottoms out until you get to the wall. This is the shelf upon which the island sits. So from there to there you have lots of reef, lots of sand bars and lots and lots of fish and sea life. You will not be disappointed. After that, the sea bed goes into a pretty sheer drop off at The Wall, and that is a different proposition entirely. The sea is colder, much choppier and not for the faint of heart or more to the point, for the under-qualified diver, which judging by our roster today, most of you are. No offence meant, but if you want to get close to The Wall, you’ll need to do a few more certified dives and get a few more badges… all of which we can arrange of course, so ask me later for a price list.’

  This crack gets the first murmur of laughter and then the dive guide is off again, circling back to the safety run down and then onto the spots that they will stop at for their dive.

  Campbell steals a look at Lisa who is trying to keep her attention focused on the dive guide so that it is not on either of the men whose shoulders are pressing against her from both sides.

  He thinks again about asking to switch seats but thinks how it would look in front of all these people and the dive guide doing his best to add seriousness and gravity to his safety talk. Please sir, I want to sit next to my girlfriend sir. I’m entirely threatened by the fact that another man is sitting next to her instead of me. I’m a little pathetic and needy sir.

  He sits tight and waits for the speech to finish. Once that’s done and there’s some quiet time to watch the ocean and spot some wildlife over the side, then he’ll stand up and get this ignorant moron to slide his ass down a few feet.

  The speech rambles and rambles and finally finishes about ten seconds after the engine cuts out, like the dive guide has timed and rehearsed it a hundred times to coincide with the arrival at the designated dive site. Logical, Campbell figures; keeps everyone sitting still and in their seats.

  ‘OK, guys, suit up,’ he says and Campbell notes that is the most succinct the man has been so far, all previous chatter delivered in a meandering fashion with ten words are used where five would have done.

  Everyone is up and eager to get into their gear and into the water so Campbell stands with the rest of them and digs out their equipment and positions himself ready to slip into the bench next to Lisa as he puts hers down next to her. The man in between them with the shark-fin hair is busy and focused on his own kit though, as though having staked his claim to this particular patch of painted wood, he will not now surrender it.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Campbell says and then repeats it when the man fails to respond. ‘Excuse me,’ and he pats the shoulder, noting its solidity.

  Shark-fin stan
ds and turns. He’s shorter than Campbell but not by much. He stays silent but questions Campbell with the frown he wears.

  ‘Would you mind shifting over a little? Just so I can…’ and he gestures at Lisa. ‘… or maybe switch places.’

  Shark-fin turns and points at the kit he has spread out on the bench and then Campbell notes that on her other side, the man’s companion has done the same leaving precious little room for manoeuvre.

  ‘Dan, just get ready there,’ Lisa says looking flustered and pointing at the vacant spot along the bench. She looks embarrassed and irritated all at once and for a flicker Campbell wonders if she is annoyed at him for having dragged her into this when she’d been planning to be naked in the shower with him and he’d rejected the offer in favour of this.

  He nods and sets his own gear down in the space he’d been sitting in and stares at the man who is either so engrossed in getting himself kitted up and ready to dive that he does not notice or is simply making an effort to look that way. Whatever it is, it riles Campbell and he begins to unpack his gear untidily, spilling across the space, his elbows out wide, his body encroaching on the other man’s space. But though his simmering temper wants a response, it does not get one.

  Around the deck, people are almost ready, busy getting into their gear and safety-checking each other’s kit as they run through drills. The guide is making his way around and helping out and Campbell sees Mr Aloof being helped with his tank as he looks across the boat at him, smirking slightly.

  In a few more minutes he is chewing on his anger and is half ready when he notices something in his peripheral vision. Lisa and the man to her other side, so far silent and reserved but no less ignorant, has somehow managed to get some of his gear tangled with hers. There are hoses and straps all over the Buoyancy Control Device and the two of them are wordlessly attempting to unknot various tangles.

  Campbell takes a step forward but the meathead in between them moves backwards to adjust something and Campbell has to duck to avoid a jutting elbow.

  ‘OK, who’s ready? Anyone who’s kitted up and buddied up, please make your way slowly to the stern and we’ll start getting you in.’ The dive guide has got himself outfitted and in position and is waving people toward him.

  ‘Lisa. Everything alright?’ Campbell asks and steps round the meathead.

  Her expression still has that pinched look of annoyance but there’s a pleading there too now, as if to say ‘what took you so long?’

  He comes over to take a closer look but then when he asks to see if he can help with the tangle, Shark-fin’s companion waves him away and busies himself with the hoses. Lisa is in her wetsuit and has her mask and fins arranged on the bench ready to put on. But without the BCD she’s got nothing to do but wait. She looks at Campbell and they stare at each other for a while but can find little to say.

  The boat is starting to empty not and the dive guide is calling for everyone to hurry up.

  ‘You might as well finish up,’ she says. ‘Then you can help me when I’ve got my BCD back.’

  In reality, there is very little to finish up and he keeps looking round to see the progress of the untangling but there seems to be little taking place. He sees that the last people to go over the side are the bodyguard and his aloof boss who is looking over again and the smirk is still there, like he is enjoying Campbell’s misfortune. As if to say that this is what happens to riff-raff like you when you venture where you don’t belong.

  Then he too is gone and it is just he and Lisa, the dive guide, the captain at the wheel and morons one and two who remain topside.

  ‘Guys, let’s get in then,’ says the dive guide, impatient at the on-going delay, at the idiot tourists who can’t keep their gear from tying itself in knots for the duration of a twenty minute boat ride.

  ‘They can’t get in tied together mate, can they,’ Campbell says, irritated that they’ve somehow been dragged into this. If these two had just sat themselves together when they’d seen the obvious couple, rather than flanking the young girl in the swimsuit, then it would be them trying to undo their own mess and he and Lisa would be twenty meters deep into paradise.

  ‘Guys it is your own time you’re wasting,’ says the dive guide, trying to sound conciliatory, failing. ‘And I need to be in the water too, I need to be supervising.’

  Campbell looks at him, looks at the moron with the hose knots in his sausage fingers getting no better. Lisa tries to reach in at one point then withdraws her hand and runs it through her hair, exasperated.

  ‘Look, you two guys are ready. Why don’t you buddy up for now and then if the tangles get sorted you can either swap over in the water or swap at the next site?’ Dive guide is keen to get moving and can see just as clear as the rest of them that it’s the most sensible solution.

  ‘Plus didn’t you want to get certified for your next badge?’

  Campbell nodded. Having flashed his PADI card at the guy at the dive shop the attendant had noted that he was halfway toward the next level of qualification and had asked if he’d like to try to tick off the other half whilst he was here.

  ‘Right then, we can do that now if you like? Your new pal here can help out. That OK with you? At least you’re in the water then and your friend can follow when he’s done the cub scout thing with the knots there.’

  Campbell looks at Lisa and is about to turn the offer down. He had no wish to leave her behind and was keen to share the experiences of their trip, whatever they might be. More to the point, he was eager not to leave her in the company of two strange men, one of whom was part of a pair that Campbell had fast developed a firm dislike for.

  ‘Go Dan, I’ll just wait here,’ she said and stopped his protest in its tracks. ‘Go on, you’re dying to get in and there’s no sense us all missing out just because of this mess.’ She was pointing at the knot of rubber hose and nylon bindings but she meant the clumsy moron standing next to her.

  ‘Go.’ It was the captain’s turn to get involved now, wandering out of the wheelhouse with a smile. ‘I’ll show the lady the spot on the roof to catch the best sun while we wait. Your man here will have this undone in a moment anyway.’

  There was no more debate to be had and Shark-fin gives Campbell a shrug, raises his eyebrows and drops over the side.

  The other moron with the ham-fists looked up at Campbell then, making eye contact just as he dropped away into the water, the first time either of them had done so.

  FORTY SIX

  It was worth the wait. He had been so desperate to see it all the way through himself, but Rookes had counselled caution, as he was paid to do, and insisted that someone else handled it.

  Horner had deferred to the clear-eyed judgement of his security man and conceded that no only was it sensible not to have any direct involvement, where there might be witnesses and evidence but moreover that for all the things that Michael Horner was, a killer was not one of them.

  Rookes had not needed to say it, but Horner knew it was true. He’d never murdered anyone, not himself, and there was much about it that might go wrong.

  He had made it clear that he wished that he could be here and Rookes had suggested that they go along for the ride. Campbell did not, after all, know what Horner looked like. The two had never laid eyes on each other during the previous affair when their paths had crossed so spectacularly.

  He’d been thrilled to have been granted his wish and Rookes knew well enough how that would play out when it came to doling out bonus payments.

  The wait had been a long one, but it was nearly all over now. He’d watched as Campbell and Lisa had arrived on the boat; recognising her from the information that Lawson had sent him on recruiting her. He’d tried not to stare at Campbell, though the other man was too caught up in other things to really notice.

  Horner couldn’t help but smile as Rookes’ men did their work and he waited as long as he could to savour Campbell’s discomfort. He’d orchestrated plenty so far; the mugging, th
e drugs, the relentless insistence on dragging him out partying in London so it seemed like a painful, punishing grind rather than fun, amounting almost to sleep deprivation. He thought of it a little like a renditioned CIA suspect subjected to interrogation techniques that the world labelled torture. The ear splitting music, the poor diet, no sleep. Stress positions too of a sort, he supposed, trapped and struggling to get comfortable as Campbell always seemed to be. Isolated from his friends and allies like he was in solitary confinement.

  No waterboarding though, not so far. But then that was always a last resort.

  Horner dropped into the clear blue right behind Rookes and waited, feeling the anticipation tingle inside him like the first hit of a drug.