Farkas had found it was hard to torture and kill a friend. With no friends working for him, he was free to operate without interruption from that annoying little thing called guilt.
He walked behind his men as they made their way back to the apartment building. He was quiet while his men joked loudly with one another. Though collectively they had enough alcohol in their systems to kill a bull, he knew that they still had their wits about them. In Farkas’s business one of the primary traits a man needed for success was to be able to handle his drink. A couple would probably spend most of tomorrow swallowing aspirin, but by the evening they would be ready to work.
On that day Farkas was due to meet some potential new suppliers. He was always looking to expand his burgeoning empire and he felt good about this trip’s prospects. The suppliers came highly recommended and if things went well they would help round out Farkas’s arms inventory. He shipped cheap Eastern European Kalashnikovs down to an Egyptian dealer, who in turn sold them throughout the Middle East and Africa. The money was okay and the risks minimal, but Farkas knew if he could get his hands on more sophisticated Western weaponry, he wouldn’t have to deal with the Egyptian bastard — who Farkas knew ripped him off — he could go straight to the smaller dealers. He would cut out the middleman and massively increase his margins.
With luck, these German suppliers might be able to help him do just that. He had his eye on some nice Heckler amp; Koch gear: MP5s, G36s, UMPs, the works. The market was there, ready and waiting. Farkas just needed to get his fingers on the goods. He also wanted a new pistol for himself. Something flashy that the other bosses back home didn’t have.
In the penthouse, his men started raiding the kitchen for anything edible or drinkable. Farkas likened them to a pack of scavengers, already full and intoxicated but eager to gorge on whatever could be found. One of his men grabbed the TV remote and began flicking through the channels in search of porn and Farkas knew it was time to call it a night when he saw the genital-to-genital close-up on the screen.
His decision provoked some jeers but he waved his hand dismissively and headed to his bedroom. He turned on the main light and began undressing, throwing his dirty clothes in one corner. Then he unzipped his suitcase and rifled through until he found his pyjamas.
In the en suite, he brushed his teeth and washed his face before returning to the bedroom. He switched off the main light and climbed into bed. Taking the novel he’d brought along for the trip off the bedside table, he flicked on the lamp.
Farkas read a few pages before tiredness got the better of him. The book wasn’t that good anyway — some thriller with too much talking and not enough killing. He folded over the corner of the page he’d reached and put the book down. He flicked the lamp off.
He lay in the dark for a few moments before switching the lamp back on and getting out of bed. He walked into the bathroom to relieve his bladder. Farkas pushed down the handle to flush the toilet. It didn’t flush.
He pushed the handle down again, harder.
Inside the tank, the handle rose to open the flush valve. It drove the firing pin taped to the top of the lever into the detonator attached to the underside of the tank lid. The detonator blew and ignited the main charge of RDX packed into the empty tank.
The shock wave travelled outwards with an explosive velocity of more than eight thousand yards per second, obliterating the tank, and everything inside the room. The door blew off its hinges and smashed into the far wall of the adjoining bedroom, followed by flames and debris.
Chunks of Farkas dropped from the bathroom ceiling.
CHAPTER 13
Linz, Austria
Before he was due to, Victor found himself awake on his hard hotel-room bed. There was a racket coming from the corridor outside. Running, yelling, laughing, banging into things. It sounded like a couple of kids playing up to their parents, who in turn were louder still in trying to quiet their children down. That was the problem with being a light sleeper who primarily slept when others were awake. People were even less considerate than they were the rest of the time.
It was something he’d been forced to get used to, as he had no fixed sleeping routine. He slept when he could, for as long as he could. If it wasn’t enough, he’d sleep another time. Those first few operations behind enemy lines had taught him the importance of getting rest whenever and wherever it was available, whatever the circumstances. It was a lesson he still put into practice. If he’d needed a comfortable bed and a good eight hours’ uninterrupted sleep each day to be at the top of his game he would have died a long time ago.
Victor employed a controlled breathing technique to induce sleep quickly, which was one of the most important skills he’d trained himself in, though today it wasn’t working. No amount of controlled breathing was going to defeat two screaming children and two yelling parents. Earplugs would have helped, but they’d also help anyone who might want to get into his room uninvited. Occasionally waking prematurely was preferable to never waking at all.
He’d slept fully dressed, as always, and back in the bedroom he stripped off his trousers and shirt. He did a workout and then ran a bath. The shower looked particularly appealing but he resisted its pull. With his head under the stream of pressurised water, it wouldn’t take an expert to break into his room without him knowing about it. Only in the safety of his own house had he allowed himself the pleasure of a shower.
When the tub was almost full, he climbed in. The water was near scalding and just how he liked it. He lowered himself slowly until only his head and knees were protruding from the water. Unusually, the taps faced away from the door so he could bathe without stainless steel jabbing into him. He allowed himself half an hour, which wasn’t tactically shrewd, but he needed the bath’s help to relax his mind. The last ten days had been busy. Two contracts fulfilled with a gunfight in between. And people who worked nine-to-five claimed to have it tough.
He knew he had little justification to complain, however. No one had forced him into the life he led. He didn’t like to think about the past, but he knew he’d taken all the steps towards who he was today willingly, even if at the time he didn’t know in which direction those steps would eventually lead him. It was what he was good at, what he’d always been good at. From the fox to his first confirmed enemy kill to Farkas.
He closed his eyes and lowered his head under the water, but limited this luxury to no more than thirty divine seconds. He remembered something an associate had once told him: If you don’t like it, stop doing it. A simple statement, but true all the same. He knew it would be easier if he liked it, a lot easier, but the problem was he didn’t dislike it either. The fact the people he killed were even more execrable than himself made little difference.
He raised his head out of the water after twenty-three seconds. The relaxing effect of the bath disappeared. He felt agitated, restless. The price of thinking too much. Water splashed on the floor as he climbed out.
Later, he ate a high-protein, high-carbohydrate meal of trout and speckknodel dumplings at a nearby restaurant. He sat at a corner table, alone. The food was good but he cared more about the nutrients. The waiter, though probably no older than Victor, looked tired and old. Victor left him a considerable tip.
He had a couple of hours to kill and so explored central Linz. He visited the Lentos Museum of Art, the Castle Museum, and the seventeenth-century Church of Saint Ignatius with its bizarre choir stalls intricately carved with frightful, almost demonic figures. As the sun set, a pleasure boat ride along the Danube let him relax without constantly looking out for surveillance, before he disembarked and walked to the Hauptplatz at the heart of the old city. Tall baroque buildings surrounded the grand square, and Victor glided through the crowd to the Trinity Column at its centre.
Even if he hadn’t known exactly where to meet her, he could have used the looks and stares of the men in the square to triangulate her position. She didn’t see him approach, but few people ever did.
Victor took her wrist and she spun to face him, her surprise quickly replaced by a smile in turn quickly replaced by a kiss as she threw her arms around him.
It was dark in his hotel room. Victor lay naked on the bed. The sheets beneath him were crumpled, half on the floor. In front of the bed, a woman, bending over, retrieved her clothes from around the bed. Victor watched her, enjoying the spectacle created by her long, smooth legs and the thong that left her tanned ass cheeks
