the right hip, where it was covered by his leather jacket. He stepped out of the car, feeling the light patter of raindrops on his face.
He walked up to the house and knocked on the door. After a few moments there was the sound of footsteps from inside, and the door creaked open.
Ben knew the guy standing in the doorway. He was the smaller of the two men who’d been on the beach in San Remo. The one who’d run away.
‘Stolen any good handbags recently?’ Ben asked him.
The guy didn’t react. He shut the door and led Ben down a hallway. The inside of the house didn’t look any better than the outside. Wallpaper was hanging in strips from the walls of the empty rooms and the carpets were threadbare.
‘Cosy little place,’ Ben said.
‘This way,’ the guy said. They came to a door and he pushed it open.
The other side of the door was the kind of operations room that a very small team running on a minuscule budget would set up. The three beaten-up armchairs and the old desk in the corner looked as though they’d been rescued from a skip. The desk was covered in clutter-papers, a collection of phones, a whirring notebook computer. A couple of cameras, one with a long lens. A couple of open aluminium cases on the floor contained an assortment of audio surveillance equipment. In the middle of the room, a Formica slab resting on two beer crates made a low table covered in plastic cups and the remnants of a fast-food meal. The place smelled of instant coffee and stale bodies and damp carpet. The blind was drawn down over the single window. The atmosphere reminded Ben of various police stakeouts he’d seen-only twice as depressing.
And he still didn’t have a clue who these people were.
Seated in one of the armchairs was another man he’d seen before. A big guy, broad shoulders, heavy arms folded across his chest. His neck was enveloped in a foam brace and his posture was stiff and awkward, as though it still hurt to move. His eyes were rimmed with red from pain.
The smaller guy went and stood with his back to the window. Ben walked into the room and gazed from one man to the other. ‘Where’s Valentine?’
‘She’s here,’ said a familiar voice. Ben turned.
‘So we meet again,’ she said.
She stood framed in the doorway of a small kitchen. Her hair was brushed down flat against her head and tied back tightly, the way it had been on the video call. The vulnerable feminine look he’d seen in San Remo had disappeared. Her face was drawn and pale, and the jeans and navy jumper looked slept in. ‘Thanks for coming. Can I get you a coffee?’
‘You can get me an explanation,’ Ben said.
Valentine nodded. ‘I owe you one. And I’ll tell you everything. But first, let me introduce you to my colleagues.’ She pointed to the big guy in the armchair. ‘This is Udo Wolff.’
Wolff nodded stiffly to Ben.
‘Don’t get up,’ Ben said.
‘This is Jimmy Harrison,’ Valentine said, pointing at the small guy who was standing by the window. And we need your help. I’m glad you came. You want to sit down? This is going to take a while.’
Ben moved over to one of the armchairs and sat down with his legs out in front of him and his arms folded. ‘I’m listening,’ he said. ‘This had better be worth it.’
‘It is,’ Valentine replied. ‘But you’re not going to like it. Get ready for some big shocks.’
‘I’m ready.’
She stepped across to the desk. On top of the pile of papers was a brown A4 envelope. She reached inside and took out a large photo print. She didn’t look at it as she walked over to Ben and passed it to him.
He studied the glossy colour print carefully. It wasn’t very nice to look at. The photo showed a woman, or what was left of a woman. It was worse than the pictures of Morgan Paxton’s body-a lot worse. She was naked and looked as though she’d been passed through a combine harvester.
‘You’re looking at Linda Downey,’ Valentine said. ‘She was the fourth member of our team.’ She paused, swallowed. ‘And she was my friend.’
He handed the picture back to her. There was complete sincerity in her eyes. And other things, he thought. Anger, maybe fear, too.
‘You might be wondering who did this to her,’ Valentine said. And what this has to do with why you’re here.’
‘I’m wondering,’ Ben said.
Valentine tapped the picture with her fingertips. ‘The person who did this to Linda is called Berg. We don’t even know if that’s his real name. Whoever he is, he’s totally off the grid and untraceable. But we do know the name of the man he works for. The man on whose orders he did this.’
Valentine laid the photo face-down on the desk, as though she couldn’t stand looking at it any more. There was tension in her jawline.
‘Berg’s employer is Colonel Harry Paxton,’ she said.
Chapter Thirty
Ben stared at Valentine for a long moment. ‘I think you’d better explain yourself more clearly. Just exactly who are you, what do you want from me, and what are you trying to say?’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I just wanted you to see the picture. I wanted you to know the kind of man Harry Paxton really is. But let me back up a couple of steps and start at the beginning.’
Ben just watched her coldly. Harrison and Wolff were silent.
Valentine pointed at the two men. ‘Until five weeks ago, the three of us were special agents with Interpol.’
Ben kept gazing at her steadily.
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘That’s something I can easily check. I know people in Interpol. I’ve got a few connections.’
‘I’m sure you have,’ Valentine said. ‘Feel free to check up on us. I’ll give you the exact details of people we worked with, section chiefs we were answerable to, names of departments, the colour of the wall tiles in the toilets at the General Secretariat in Lyon.’
‘I’ll be sure to make some calls,’ Ben said. ‘But let’s just say for the moment that I believe you. I still don’t understand why I’m here listening to this.’
‘You’re here because Harry Paxton’s not who you think he is. Because it’s time you knew the truth.’ Valentine paused. ‘Let me tell you about the real Harry Paxton. He’s an arms dealer. He’s been trading illegally in weapons for more than a decade. He sells to anyone. Terrorists, mass murderers. He’s given power to despots across the world. Fuelled war crimes and genocide in just about every war zone going. Africa, South America, Asia, the Middle East, you name it. He’s smart, ruthless and will kill anyone who stands in his way. The reason we’re here in Paris is that he’s due to arrive tomorrow afternoon for a meeting with one of his business associates at the Georges V hotel. It could be a break for us. We’re going to follow the bastard everywhere he goes.’
There was a long silence. Anxious looks passed between Valentine, Wolff and Harrison.
Ben stood up. ‘I don’t have to listen to this. You’re talking complete bullshit. There’s no way Harry Paxton is an arms dealer. It’s insane.’
‘Sit down, Major Hope. Hear us out.’
But Ben was already walking to the door.
Then a voice made him stop dead in his tracks.
‘Listen to her, Ben. She’s telling the truth.’
He turned slowly, and for a moment he was speechless.
It was Zara. She stood in the doorway from which Valentine had emerged before. She looked anxious, tense. The black T-shirt and jacket she was wearing made her face seem even paler than it was.
But she still looked beautiful. He took a step towards her. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked,
