He looked at me, clearly decided it was best to comply, and fished out a key, turning it in the lock. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said, moving away as I looked inside.
I felt my insides clench. It wasn’t what I thought. It was worse.
Far worse.
57
As was often the case, Alastair Sheridan was pleased with himself. He’d just delivered a speech that was both measured and statesmanlike to an auditorium full of the great and the good of Bosnia-Herzegovina at Vijećnica, Sarajevo’s historic City Hall, and was now in the back of a limousine supplied by the office of the Presidency, being driven to the house deep in the forested hills above the city which he and Cem had bought through a shell company a couple of years back.
The limousine had a police escort, again supplied by the Presidency, which was standard practice when Alastair was in town, given his importance as a British politician and an investor in the country, but it was especially needed tonight. Alastair’s friend and occasional business partner Marco Kovich, whom he’d met the previous year through Cem, had warned him of the presence in the city of Ray Mason. How that cockroach had managed to track Alastair all the way here was anyone’s guess, but the most important thing was that Marco stopped him, which he’d promised to do.
Alastair checked his phone. He was waiting for a message from Marco to tell him that Mason had been dealt with, permanently. Alastair needed to see proof that Mason was finally dead. Only then could he relax entirely.
There was no message. Alastair checked his watch. It was 10.30 p.m. He should have heard by now. Either way, however, Mason couldn’t touch him. The house was covered by year-round private security, and when Alastair was in residence he made sure that he had two guards on the perimeter at all times. The guards were supplied by Marco, and were not the type of men to ask questions or be too curious, which was a good thing because tonight Alastair was expecting a special delivery.
He felt a shiver of excitement inside as he thought of the fun he was going to have later. It was just a pity that Cem couldn’t be there to share it with him.
Still, he thought, at least it meant he’d have her all to himself.
58
The girl couldn’t have been more than fifteen, and she was sat cramped in a wooden carry-cage only just about big enough to hold a large dog, a filthy gag covering her mouth. Her feet were bare and she was clothed in a dark T-shirt and white, patterned skirt that had become grubby and stained. Her eyes, pale blue, were wide with fear and desperation.
I turned to Marco. ‘You piece of shit,’ I said quietly. ‘She’s for Sheridan, isn’t she?’
He tried to answer but no words came out. He was too busy staring at the gun, probably concluding that I was about to kill him. And anyway, how do you come up with an excuse for why you’re keeping a young girl in a cage?
‘Let her out now.’
He nodded rapidly and unlocked the cage, gesturing for the girl to get out. But she didn’t move. She looked absolutely terrified.
I approached her slowly, still keeping my gun trained on Marco, trying to look as unthreatening to her as possible. ‘It’s going to be OK. Do you speak English?’
She shook her head.
I put out a hand but she wouldn’t take it, and I noticed that she was wearing old-fashioned handcuffs. I turned to Marco. ‘Uncuff her and help her out. And tell her she’s going to be OK.’
As he approached her she flinched visibly, clearly having been on the wrong side of him before, but he said something in Serbo-Croat, his tone gentle, and she allowed him to remove her handcuffs and help her out. She was bent over like an old woman and she looked unsteady on her feet so I gestured for her to sit down in a chair in the corner, which she did.
‘How long’s she been in there for?’ I said, taking the handcuffs and key from Marco.
‘Just a few hours.’
‘When’s she going to Sheridan? And tell me the truth or I’ll hurt you.’
‘Tonight.’
‘And you’re delivering her, right?’
He nodded furtively.
‘And you know he’s planning to kill her?’ I was finding it hard not to kill him myself, there and then. ‘Of course you do. I bet you were going to make a lot of money out of it too.’
‘We’re not rich like you people. We have to take what work we can.’
‘Well, you’re going to work for me tonight to atone for what you’ve done. I assume Sheridan wants confirmation that you’ve killed me. How do you communicate?’
‘Via email.’
‘Get the address up on your phone now and show me the last message from him.’
He did as he was told, and handed me the phone. I glanced briefly at the conversation they’d been having about the girl. Alastair was indeed expecting her tonight. He was paying Marco €100,000 for her, on the basis that she wouldn’t need to be returned. I felt sick and vengeful.
I told Marco to stand facing the opposite wall away from the girl and then used his phone to send back a message to Alastair saying that the deed was done and I was dead, but that I was having trouble uploading the video and would show it to him later when I delivered the girl. Then I pocketed the phone.
‘OK, let’s go. We’re going to drop the girl off at the nearest good hospital.’
As Marco turned back from the wall, I launched a kick that caught him right between the legs, sending him collapsing to his knees. He looked up at me imploringly, his
