drug in the air. It made him remember long nights out on manoeuvres.
‘Why don’t you try and relax,’ the broker said from behind him. ‘You freak me out just standing there.’
‘I can’t relax.’
‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘You can’t really believe anyone’s going to come for us here.’
He didn’t turn around. ‘I spend every day expecting to be killed,’ he stated. ‘Because the day I don’t, will be the day I am.’
She exhaled loudly. ‘Then you might want to rethink what you do for a living.’
‘What I do for a living is keeping you alive.’
She went back to her work.
This part of the city, away from the infamous red-light district, was beautiful, even in the winter. The canals and quaint architecture made the city seem cosy and welcoming. Victor had visited a few times before, always passing through, never staying. He decided when this was all over he would make a point of coming back.
The clicking of the laptop keys had been a constant background noise for the last two hours. The stag party had finally moved out into the city, and Victor found the quiet rhythmic clicking of keys soothing somehow, the sound relaxing, making his eyelids heavy.
Occasionally, in his peripheral vision, he saw the broker look up from her work at him, but not with the watchfulness she had once shown. The broker talked a lot more, even though he responded infrequently. Now, when she looked his way the fear was gone, even if the wariness wasn’t fully. She was less concerned with what he might do, more comfortable in his presence now. Victor wished he could say the same thing about her.
If it came to it, Victor told himself, he would kill her as painlessly as possible. She’d done enough to warrant that at the least.
He noticed the people in the crowd on the street below seemed to blend into one another, colours evening out. The sound of the broker typing became quieter. He realized his head had drooped forward, and he snapped it back in line with his spine.
‘I need some air.’
Victor headed for the door.
‘Okay,’ the broker said, looking up. ‘I’ll be near. Call the cell if anything makes you suspicious.’
He made a point of not looking back.
Outside the hotel the street was noisy and full of people. He watched for surveillance while he took a brief walk, never veering more than a short sprint back. He wanted to stay out longer, to be on his own, but he couldn’t leave the broker by herself for too long for both their safety. On the way back to the hotel he called her to check in and stopped in the hotel bar for a bottle of beer.
Having a partner, if she could be called that, was not something he would get accustomed to any time soon. He’d worked alone for so long he felt strangled operating so closely with someone else. She wasn’t used to this either; her field skills were basic at best. He had to use one eye to watch her back, leaving only one to watch his own. The fact that she was a woman, an attractive woman, didn’t help either. She was the kind of distraction he wasn’t used to having.
He finished his beer and left the hotel bar, sidestepping to avoid a trio of cocktail-fuelled young women having a good time. They jeered at him as he passed, one offering herself in a less-than-sophisticated manner. He found it amusing and simply raised an eyebrow at her. They burst out laughing.
When Victor entered the hotel lobby he noticed the clock and realized he’d been gone far longer than he’d planned. He took the stairs to the second floor and approached their room. They each had an electronic key and had agreed that they would knock once and pause before entering. He did so and opened the door. She looked up from her work at him and they made eye contact. She half smiled at him. It made Victor feel uncomfortable.
‘How long is this going to take?’
She didn’t like his blunt tone. ‘I don’t ask you to explain your methods,’ she said. ‘Please extend me the same courtesy.’
Victor headed toward the bathroom. ‘I see you’re developing a backbone.’
She was just as sharp. ‘And I see you’re developing a sense of humour.’
Victor had briefly smiled then, despite himself, knowing she couldn’t see it with his back to her, but he was quick to remind himself that she was just a tool. Nothing more. Just an aid to his own survival. No different from a gun. Useful, but to be discarded as soon as its usefulness was spent. Nothing good would come of his thinking about her in any other way.
He walked into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He heard the broker’s voice from the other room.
‘You were gone a long time,’ she said.
He stared at his reflection. ‘I had a beer.’
‘You’re joking,’ was her response.
Victor dried his face with a towel. ‘I don’t joke.’
‘I didn’t think you guys drank alcohol.’
‘You watch too many movies.’
She said something else, but he was already closing the bathroom door and running a bath. He bathed quickly, re-entering the bedroom dried and dressed.
He found the broker was leaning back in the chair, arms folded behind her head. She was smiling casually. It suited her.
‘I’ve found it,’ she announced without fanfare. ‘The money was paid to Seif by an outfit called Olympus Trading.’
‘Go on.’
‘Olympus has made some noteworthy transfers to Seif recently. The latest one was a week before you killed Ozols.’
‘And the others?’ Victor asked, seeing where she was going with this.
‘A month before Ozols, what job did you do?’
‘An arms dealer, in Sweden.’
‘Two payments were made to Seif at that time, one about a week before he was killed, and a second identical amount a week after. Do I need to go on?’
Victor shook his head.
The broker continued, ‘Whatever Olympus Trading is, it also doubles as the front company for whatever part of the CIA we’re dealing with.’
‘A slush fund.’
‘Exactly. To pay for black ops.’
‘Maybe it only exists on paper.’
‘Looks genuine to me. And a real, functioning company is far better for washing money than a paper one.’
Victor felt his body relax, happy, relieved, knowing they were one step closer to ending this thing. He showed no outward signs of this.
‘We’ll leave tomorrow,’ he said. ‘What’s the destination?’
‘Put it like this,’ the broker said with a grin. ‘You’ll look good with a tan.’
CHAPTER 57
Washington, DC, USA
Wednesday
19:40 EST
Most people Ferguson knew of his own age were starting to really feel it, but Ferguson felt as fit and healthy now in his sixties as he did in his forties. He may have lost some weight with the passing years, but his body showed no signs of packing in on him anytime soon. He planned to enjoy a long and relaxing retirement, and, with a bit of luck, a very wealthy one. He pictured himself lazing on a beach in the Seychelles with nothing more
