‘Stratton!’ Vicky shouted. ‘I’m asking you a question. You know what this is all about, don’t you?’
Stratton looked away, shaking his head, not in denial of her question but in disbelief at this turn of events. All he could think of was how miserably he had failed the people he loved, not only Josh but his mother and father too. Josh had been taken out of revenge for what Stratton had done. He, John Stratton of the SIS and SBS, should have seen it coming: in a way he had but he’d been too slow to act. He should have gone to the centre last night and taken Josh away himself. But he had been complacent, worried about repercussions that would have been nothing compared to those that would now result from Josh being kidnapped by Skender’s people – it had to be them for there was no one else to suspect. Stratton had gambled with Josh’s life. The little boy had trusted him, innocently placed all his hopes in the one person he had left in the world who could help him – and Stratton had betrayed him with sheer incompetence.
‘John! Talk to me, for God’s sake!’
Stratton finally looked up into Vicky’s tormented eyes. ‘It’s me they want,’ he said.
‘Who are “they”?’ she asked, getting frustrated.
‘The people who tried to kill me, – us, in fact – last night. You would have died too.’
Vicky didn’t understand. There was too much information and too little clarification. ‘Why did they take Josh?’
Stratton was afraid to answer the question. Any answer would sound pathetic. ‘Revenge,’ was all he could say.
‘For what?’ she insisted.
‘They killed Josh’s mother so I killed them. It’s quite simple, really,’ he said, getting angry himself. ‘It’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life,’ he added.
Vicky still did not know what to make of it but Stratton’s pain and feelings of guilt were obvious. ‘Why didn’t you come to me, tell me? I might have been able to help.’
Maybe she was right. Maybe she could have helped him get Josh away if she had really understood the situation. But that was hindsight and Stratton doubted that she would have felt able to aid him last night. It didn’t matter now.
‘We have to tell the police,’ Vicky said.
‘That won’t help him.’
‘That’s ridiculous. If the police know who took him they can get him back.’
‘The people who took him don’t care about the police. They
‘I can’t believe that,’ she said.
‘Listen to me,’ Stratton snapped at her. ‘They are Muslim Albanians and will never admit to kidnapping him. They want me and when they have me they’ll kill Josh too. They have no hearts, no pity, no code other than never giving way to anything other than death. It’s how they’ve lived for hundreds of years and nothing will change that. Do you understand?’
Tears rolled down Vicky’s face as the truth of what he’d said hit home. Some of the tears were for Josh but some were for herself. She had dreamed about this man she thought might be the shining knight in her sad, lonely life and who was going to take her away from all this, and now it was over. He was an enigma and she realised that she had known no more about him the night before – when she had been prepared to give herself to him – than she did now. She began to wonder if he was actually something dark and terrible. There was evidence of that in his eyes, sure enough. Now they were filled with malevolence of an intensity that she had never seen before.
Vicky did not realise that she had stepped back from Stratton in reaction to a sudden pang of fear, for Josh as well as for herself. ‘Who are you?’ she asked softly.
It was as if he could read her thoughts. ‘I’m sorry for you,’ Stratton said. He stepped away from her, his thoughts on the police around the corner, wondering whether she would tell them that he was there. ‘I’m Josh’s only chance,’ he told her, hoping that she would believe it, then, disturbingly, doubting it himself.
Vicky remained where she was, transfixed as he walked away.
When Stratton was out of sight she lowered her eyes as she felt something inside her crumble away, perhaps her last vestige of hope. Her life’s experiences so far had shown her more than anything else what a rotten world this was. The original idea of devoting herself to healing the lost souls of children had been intended to give some purpose to her life. But after so many years all she was left with were mostly stories of sadness and broken hearts, and instead of building her own sense of self-worth she had become as much a victim as those in her charge. Perhaps that was why she sympathised with their plight as much as she did: she often felt less like a healing angel and more like the inept leader of a hopelessly lost flock.
Vicky’s hands came up to her face and she began to cry like a baby.
23
Hobart stood at the bedroom window of Stratton’s former Santa Monica apartment, looking down onto the alley where he could see a large scorch mark surrounding a sizeable scoop in the tarmac. During the immediate follow-up investigation the police had found the apartment manager beaten and tied up in his room. When they took the tape from his mouth he immediately started ranting about how two men had arrived in the early evening, enquiring about accommodation. Then they’d suddenly taken him at gun-point to his room and asked about an Englishman named Stratton. As soon as he had provided a key to the apartment they’d tied him up.
When Stratton’s name hit the police communications network it was automatically filtered out to Hobart’s department as per his request. The occupants of the blown-up sedan had been identified as Chicago hoods and Hobart surmised that Skender had found the identity of Leka and Ardian’s killer and attempted his own revenge.
Hobart was impressed as well as disturbed with the Albanians’ intelligence-acquisition network that had located Stratton quicker than the FBI had been able to. Skender had obviously brought in outside hitters to cover his involvement but Hobart wondered if the man knew precisely who he was up against. This Stratton guy was obviously skilled, judging by the hits in the court cells and the restaurant, but this counter-hit, whatever it was that he had done exactly, displayed an alertness and initiative under pressure that were, frankly, outstanding. The Chicago goons had obviously come for Stratton and somehow he had turned the tables on them.
One thing that continued to niggle Hobart was Skender’s reasoning behind this attempt on Stratton. Hobart was well aware of the Albanian propensity for revenge but Ardian and Leka were not related to Skender. On top of that Skender must have been angry with the two idiots for stepping out of line in the first place. Going one step further, Skender might even have appreciated Stratton taking revenge for Sally’s murder although that was a speculation beyond Hobart’s knowledge of Albanian redemption protocol. Hobart found it too hard to accept that Skender would risk his special relationship with the Feds for those two idiots. If he was forced to, he would have to put it down simply to the arrogance of the man.
Whatever the answer, Hobart was now faced with a double duty: to find Stratton to protect him from the Albanians – and them from him.
An FBI forensics officer stepped into the room. He was wearing a thin pair of rubber gloves. ‘Okay to do in here now, sir?’
Hobart walked out of the bedroom. He paused in the living room where another forensics officer was at work, brushing the dust off the small dining table and sweeping it into a plastic bag.
Hobart was standing in the apartment’s main doorway when the elevator doors opened. He looked up to see Hendrickson step out and walk down the corridor towards him.
‘Sir,’ Hendrickson said before he reached the door. Hobart could tell from his pensive look that the young man had something urgent to reveal.
Hobart wore his usual dry expression as he walked out into the corridor and waited for his eager young assistant.
‘Sir. Sally Penton had a son. He was with her when she was killed.’
Hobart flashed him an angry look. ‘You’re telling me this now?’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I didn’t see the relevance of it at the time.’
‘
