The youth responded, moving in close. Whelan took in the scent of aftershave, something lemony and subtle, and the heat of sweet breath on his cheek. He abandoned himself to the feeling of being cherished, of being warmed.
The feeling lasted just three seconds.
Then Whelan felt an ice-cold burning deep in his gut. His legs began to fold, their strength suddenly ebbing away. He felt his bladder loosen, humiliating and hotly wet down his legs. He struggled to hold himself upright, to lock his knees against the downward pressure, but the muscles and sinews wouldn’t obey. Nothing would.
He coughed, but couldn’t understand why.
The youth stepped back. In his hand, a flicker of steel, and on his face, total blankness.
Whelan turned his head away, his last voluntary action. In the sudden, bitter knowledge of disappointment, he was sure he saw Jamie standing off to one side, pale and translucent in the night. Waiting.
Then everything went black.
NINETEEN
The Odeon restaurant was empty again, save for Mace. The station chief was sitting near the back wall, at his usual table. He had left instructions at the office for Harry to join him. There had been no reason to refuse, and Harry had seen enough of the town for a while and wanted to see what information Mace might have other than gossip about his colleagues.
As he sat down, Mace called for the old woman. She shuffled out bearing a tray loaded with bowls of food, and placed it on the table.
He stared in surprise. He saw green chicken, egg-fried rice, onions, bean shoots and a mix of what could have been pork and beef.
‘Christ, where did this come from?’
Mace’s eyes gleamed. ‘Best Thai for miles. Actually, the only Thai for miles. Beats me how or why; she must have travelled a bit in a former life. Served it up one day without asking. Never seen anyone else get it, so maybe she fancies me. Tuck in.’ He picked up a spoon and scooped up chicken, bean shoots and rice, humming cheerfully.
Harry wanted to refuse; to tell Mace to stuff his fancy food and get lost, that he wanted to go home. But Mace had his orders, and sending a member of the awkward squad back to London wasn’t part of the agenda. Besides, Harry’s professional side was intrigued to want to find out what was going on here. He sat down and reached for a spoon and plate.
They ate in silence, and Harry was grateful for the first decent meal he’d had in what seemed like days. Airline food and greasy takeaways were beginning to take their toll on his system.
‘You been taking a snoot at the Clones, I see,’ Mace muttered eventually. His eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘Young Rik’s seeing shadows.’
‘You don’t believe him?’ Harry wondered about Mace’s scepticism. Did he know more than he was letting on?
‘Never said that. Just said he shouldn’t let it get to him.’ He dabbed his lips with a paper napkin. ‘Bound to be under scrutiny, aren’t we? Stands to reason; we’re the enemy. Anyone who thinks our British Council cover fools anyone needs their bumps felt. Same in London with their trade delegates. We stand out like spare dicks at a wedding.’ He hoovered up more rice. ‘How many did you spot?’
‘Two. Rik says there are four.’
‘That would be about it. They probably hang on the Americans and French tails, too, with regular changeovers to keep ’em fresh. I wouldn’t worry about it.’
‘They both have intelligence teams here?’
‘Course they do. This close to Mother Russia and the Caspian, they’d be negligent not to. Most of them are so-called oil engineers and the like, but their cover’s paper thin.’
Like Higgins, thought Harry. Different skin but the same animal underneath.
‘So we ignore them?’
‘Ignore them, forget them, stay well away, is my suggestion.’ His eyes locked on to Harry’s. ‘That’s not bad advice, either.’
Before Harry could reply, the restaurant door opened and two men stepped in off the street.
The first was large, like a bear, unshaven and with lank, black hair, but dressed in a smart suit, white shirt and buffed shoes. His shadow filled the doorway. The other man was shorter, slim like a dancer, and dressed in black. He moved round the bigger man, light on his feet, and stood to one side, waiting.
The big man approached their table.
‘Mr Mace,’ he said genially. His eyes slid over Harry in a rapid assessment. ‘I see you are enjoying our excellent native cuisine.’ He chuckled at his wit and smoothed the front of his suit.
‘Mr Mayor,’ Mace greeted him, and sucked in a bean shoot with relish. ‘Care to join us? There’s plenty.’
‘Thank you. Not today.’ The man looked at Harry again and Mace shifted in his seat.
‘Oh, sorry — rude of me. Geordi Kostova… Harry Tate.’ He looked at Harry and explained, ‘Geordi’s the local mayor. Very important man, hereabouts.’ He turned to the mayor. ‘Harry’s on assignment from England, come to join our little crew.’
‘So? A replacement for Jimmy Gulliver, yes?’
Mace’s smile slipped for a second, but he hoisted it back quickly. ‘Sort of. Head Office likes to rotate new employees. Field experience, you could call it.’
‘I understand. Such a pity Jimmy had to return home. I enjoyed his company. Well, Mr Tate — Harry,’ Geordi smiled and bowed courteously, ‘welcome to our humble town. I hope you will find much to enjoy here.’
‘I’m sure I will. The countryside looks beautiful.’
‘Yes. Very true. But be careful where you go.’ Kostova put a large finger against his nose. ‘Such beauty holds many dangers and our roads are not for the faint of heart.’
Tell me about it, thought Harry. Ploughed bloody fields spring to mind.
Kostova glanced at his watch, a Rolex. ‘Please excuse me, but as mayor, there are many duties I must attend to in these troubled times.’
‘Troubled?’ Harry detected a warning look from Mace but ignored him.
Kostova shrugged, a heft of huge shoulders. ‘Some local land matters,’ he explained in a bored tone. ‘Nothing for you to worry about. Enjoy your stay.’
He turned and walked out, the slim man falling in behind him like a shadow.
‘He just told us to mind our own business,’ said Harry. ‘Nice.’
‘Not surprised. You notice the other fella?’ Mace scooped up more rice. ‘Geordi’s wingman, goes by the name of Nikolai. Watch out for him. He’s a cutter if ever I saw one.’
‘Why would a small-town mayor need a bodyguard?’
‘Well, apart from status, this area’s full of tribal conflict, that’s why. They’d never think twice about popping off someone like Geordi if he didn’t play fair. Bodyguard, chauffeur, fixer — Nikolai’s always there. See the mayor and Nikolai won’t be more than six feet away.’ He took a swig of water. ‘Geordi has lots of interests, see, outside of being His Worship.’ He smiled sourly. ‘Well, he’d have to, wouldn’t he? Can’t make a living being mayor of a dump like this.’
‘What sort of interests?’ The suit and Rolex hadn’t been picked up at the local market. And there was something about the man that reminded him of other local politicians he’d come across in the Balkans. Usually well-fed, mostly highly intelligent and never less than devious.
‘Trade, mostly. Anyone wants it, Geordi can get it — for a price. Got lots of contacts all over the region. Some of ’em up north.’ He left the meaning hanging, and concentrated on clearing his plate.
‘How far north?’ Harry prompted. Mace’s abbreviated talk and his oblique references were getting on his nerves.
‘What?’
‘You said contacts up north.’
