squaddie culture that BB just didn’t grasp.
The massive turnout and expressions of condolence didn’t bring much comfort to Tracy. In fact they freaked her out. She wanted to be alone with her grief. Sharing it made things worse. Now she sat beside me, eyeliner streaming down her face — she looked like a poor man’s vampire. All I could hear was the vehicle heater and stifled intakes of breath as she tried hard not to cry again.
I didn’t want to say anything. I stared straight ahead, drove nice and gently, and left her with her thoughts.
2
The aid workers back at the camp had swallowed our story. It’s always good to base a lie on the truth. We had seen a body hanging out of a stranded fishing boat and gone to check inside it. On the way back down, Mong had missed his footing, fallen awkwardly and sliced his femoral artery on a rusty reinforcing rod.
I made sure they understood this wasn’t a story for their media mates. I didn’t want it leaking out before I could tell his widow in person. The next thing I did was get word to Crazy Dave, who swung straight into action. He didn’t just have British ex-Special Forces on his books: he had ex-Delta and Seals as well. One of the Delta guys made some calls. Favours were pulled in. A US Navy helicopter landed at the camp a few hours later and airlifted the three of us to a carrier out in the bay. They, in turn, trans-shipped us the next day onto a supply vessel that was heading to Singapore to take on stores.
In the day and a bit that it took us to steam the five hundred miles south, Crazy Dave sorted everything. An ambulance was waiting at the dockside in Singapore harbour. It drove us straight to the British embassy, where a local pathologist was on hand to confirm the cause of death and issue a certificate. The only thing that raised an eyebrow with him was the state of Mong’s body. He hadn’t just been thrown into a body bag, covered with blood and dirt. He’d been given a nice wash and brush-up, and was dressed in a clean set of clothes. In fact, if you didn’t know about the fucking great hole in his thigh, you’d have thought he was just having a quiet nap before taking his wife out to dinner. It was the least I could do after the care he’d taken with the dead couple and their baby.
We were on a flight out of Changi International first thing next morning. BB and I were in Club Class, Mong in cargo. During the journey, I mulled over what needed to be done next.
Crazy Dave was waiting for us at Heathrow with a funeral director and a hearse. I made a deal with him as soon as we landed. He’d give Tracy my second payment as well as Mong’s. He’d tell her it was the agreed fee for the job. I’d made the old fucker a promise, and this was the start of me keeping it.
3
Tracy put her hand on my shoulder. ‘What am I going to do, Nick? He was all I had.’
I kept my eyes on the road. I didn’t want to crash this thing and make her life even worse. ‘It’ll be tough at first, Tracy, but life does go on …’
Her hand fell off my shoulder and back onto her lap. She nodded slowly. But then the hand came back up to her face and she started sobbing again.
I patted her shoulder, trying to drive and look at her at the same time. ‘Have you thought about moving away from here? You know, try somewhere new. Somewhere there won’t be constant reminders.’
She reached into a small black bag for more tissues. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to India. On the beach. Maybe a small restaurant. Just be happy.’ She blew her nose. ‘But I can’t. Mum’s still ill, and then there’s Jan …’
I put my hand back on the steering wheel. Jan was a problem.
She was going to be all over Tracy now she had a few bob. But things weren’t as rosy as Jan thought. Mong had died while helping the victims of the tsunami. He’d taken out a life-insurance policy to cover the mortgage, but couldn’t have read the bit in the small print about not putting himself in harm’s way. They weren’t expecting to pay up. I’d asked BB if he’d bung in his share to make up for it, but I wasn’t holding my breath.
Tracy dried her eyes as we approached the four-bedroom mock-Tudor that she now owned, or would shortly.
‘I don’t even have any children to be with, Nick. We tried so hard, but we couldn’t.’
She looked at me. A dreadful thought crossed her mind. I could see it in her face. ‘I won’t lose you, Nick, will I? Just because Mong’s gone it doesn’t mean I have to lose you as well, does it?’
I parked up in the drive and pushed the selector to P. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always make sure you’re OK, no matter what happens.’
PART THREE
1
The extractor fan was working overtime in the low-level, low-lit twenty-five-metre range. There were six hi- tech firing cubicles, each with electric wires that spun out the target between five and twenty-five metres. The fans were there to extract the lead dust that spat from the muzzles as the rounds left the weapons. Over a period of time, that stuff can line your lungs. The fans extracted the smoke and smell of cordite and cigarettes as well. People smoked everywhere in Moscow. I didn’t know if there was a public policy against it, but even if there was, who was going to take the risk of telling you not to?
I pulled my Glock from its padded nylon zip-up. I hadn’t been a fan of these weapons when they first came out. For a start, they incorporated three different safety systems, not one of which I could feel and work with my thumb. But now, like two-thirds of USA law enforcement and many other police and military agencies around the planet, I put my hands up. I’d got it wrong. It was an excellent weapon.
I’d misjudged Moscow, too. It had taken me a while to realize it was just an extreme version of New York. You knew where you stood with the Muscovites. People didn’t open doors for each other. When you wanted something you said, ‘Give me.’ And as long as you had the roubles, you got. It was very clear-cut.
Muscovites had a live-for-today attitude that was infectious. Nothing you did in Moscow had consequences. It was a bit like the Wild West. The government was a dictatorship. The police were mostly corrupt. The crime rate was one of the highest on the planet. Most Russians were either unfriendly or downright hostile, especially if they were manning the doors of nightclubs. Moscow bouncers administered Face Control (Feis Kontrol). It didn’t matter if you were male or female, if you were a minger they wouldn’t admit you — unless you were rich. I’d even seen them split couples or groups. They were OK with my ugly face at Gunslingers, but only because I paid my membership on time.
The main reason I liked Moscow was that Anna lived there. It was nine months now since I’d taken the lease on the penthouse overlooking the Moskva River. To the right was the Borodinsky Bridge. Behind that, the Russian Federation’s government buildings. It was a great place just to sit and gaze out at the city, especially at night, when the streets were full of pissed-off mingers who’d been face controlled chuntering to themselves on the way home.
Anna had been right. Moscow looked great in summer. I must have walked in every one of the city’s ninety-
