Tracers

‘Would you recognize him among a crowd?’

‘Of course. Why?’

‘Because you might have to if you ever want to live a normal life.’

Her eyes grew wide at the thought, and the silence in the room lengthened. Then she said, ‘How do you plan to make that happen?’

Harry stood up. ‘There’s only one way. You’re going to help us find him.’ He glanced across at Rik. ‘I’ll go out and check the street.’

Dog was surprised when he saw Harry Tate appear at the front of the building, and slid down in his seat. He was sure the man wouldn’t see him, not from there. But he didn’t want to take the chance of light flashing off his face and giving away his position.

He watched Tate stroll by on the other side and wondered what had made the former MI5 man come out here. Maybe he suspected someone was close by. He was beginning to think that Jennings had made a mistake using this man. He was already causing problems and plainly had highly developed instincts for survival. Dog was certain he’d done nothing to blow his cover, but the only sure-fire thing in his line of work was that fate had a talent for proving you wrong.

He switched his gaze to his wing mirrors and watched Tate stop and turn, his figure outlined by the garish neon of a store window further along the street. Then he began to retrace his steps, head turning to scan the shadows.

Dog gave a cold smile, recognizing the signs. This one’s a hunter. He knows what he’s doing. He slid his hand into his jacket pocket and touched the comforting shape of his knife. He drew it out and snicked open the blade, laying it alongside his leg.

Tate walked by, unaware of his presence. Dog felt the thrill of the chase skimming through his veins. He waited until Tate was thirty yards away, then opened the car door and slipped out, closing it again without a sound. The interior light stayed off; he’d removed the bulb earlier.

Dog hadn’t stalked anyone this way in a long while, and enjoyed the renewed rush of excitement it brought him. It made him feel almost light-headed. The sounds and smells were heightened, the slight metallic tang of dampness was sharp in the air, and the distant rumble of late traffic carried an almost startling clarity. He breathed easily, padding along in his quarry’s wake, his rubber-soled shoes leaving no sound for Tate to pick up on.

He ran his thumb along the top of the knife blade. This wasn’t part of his brief, not yet. But sometimes opportunity presented itself, a once-and-only fruit for the picking that was too good to pass up. He picked up his pace, sticking close to the buildings, his breathing coming faster as he closed in on his target.

Then a car swung round the corner behind him and lit up the street with the glare of its headlights. Shit!

At the same moment, no doubt alerted by instinct, Tate began to turn his head.

Dog threw himself into the doorway of a charity shop, rolling into a ball. The car drove by, and Dog pulled his legs up to his chest, adopting the stance of a rough sleeper. The light washed over him, penetrating every crevice of the doorway, but if the occupants of the car had noticed him, they evidently saw nothing to be alarmed about.

Dog waited, knowing his opportunity had gone, and let out his breath in a long, bitter flow of disappointment. So close.

There would be another time, he told himself. Very soon.

THIRTY-ONE

After a fitful night’s sleep, with Harry on the sofa and Rik giving Joanne his bed in favour of a sleeping bag in one corner, the two men shared coffee in the kitchen and discussed their next moves.

‘We may have a problem,’ Rik announced quietly. They could hear the shower hissing from the bathroom and both men were keen to do nothing to alarm Joanne.

‘Only one?’ Harry muttered. ‘I call that a good start.’

Rik gestured towards the front window. ‘I looked out there during the night, about three. We had a watcher. Bloke in a car down the street. He moved, otherwise I wouldn’t have seen him. When I checked half an hour later, he’d gone.’

Harry took a bite of toast. ‘Could be we’ve popped up on somebody’s radar.’ He explained about the man he’d seen before, sitting in a car tucked behind a market van. ‘I thought he was a local cop or a public health inspector. Now I’m not so sure.’

‘You think somebody’s on us?’ Rik looked surprised.

‘I’m only guessing. It could be a coincidence. But the man I saw was definitely watching somebody.’

‘Joanne?’

‘Or Silverman. . Rafa’i — whatever his name is. Bound to be. After what she told us, nothing would surprise me.’

‘What do we do?’

‘Talk to Jennings. He got us on to this situation. He’ll have to get us out.’

‘And Joanne?’

‘What about me?’ The shower had stopped but the fan was still running in the background. Joanne was standing in the doorway, her hair still damp. It was clear she had been listening, although they didn’t know for how long.

She looked tired but determined, and was fully dressed and ready to go, with her rucksack in one hand. The side of her jacket bulged out with the weight of her handgun.

Rik told her about the watcher during the night. ‘It’s possible someone made a connection with us going to your place. If it’s the person who killed your friend, they’ll have worked out by now that they made a mistake and got the wrong person.’

Joanne frowned. ‘But they might not know I’m here. I should leave.’

Harry scowled at her. ‘Forget it. We don’t know who it is yet. He could be totally unconnected. If he pops up again, we can go out and ask him. We’re just discussing possibilities.’

‘Such as?’

‘Like what to do with you in the meantime.’ He explained about Jennings, and how the lawyer’s office would be the logical place to start. ‘Problem is, we don’t know who got him to hire us in the first place. It obviously wasn’t the Israelis, but that still leaves a big field of possibilities. Finding Silverman was just one of three jobs; we just handled the tracing bit. Like Silverman, the other two seemed fairly ordinary, but they both ended up dead.’ He paused. ‘There’s still no reason to suggest the other two were connected with Silverman, but they could have been a useful smokescreen.’

Joanne frowned. ‘What for?’

‘To cover something they didn’t want anyone to see. The first two jobs could have been slush; real enough, but testing the water. Silverman was the one they were really after.’

Rik glanced at him. ‘You reckon?’

‘I was thinking about it last night.’ Harry looked at Joanne. ‘Normally, when we locate a runner we call it in and wait for instructions. We don’t get involved further. Our job is to confirm the find first. Then we verify the location and bug out, leaving it for someone like the cops to handle. But these jobs were different. With the first one, a man named Matuq, I called it in and was told to stand by for instructions. I saw muzzle-flashes coming from the house, and when I went back he was dead. With the second, Param, he asked for some time so he could write to his parents and explain what he’d done. We called it in and when we went to check he hadn’t bunked off, he was dead, too.’

‘And when Harry tracked down Silverman,’ Rik added softly, ‘or Rafa’i, I should say, somebody nipped in quick and did the same thing. Only they missed the main man. Or took him with them.’

‘And then there was you.’ Harry looked at Joanne.

‘But I’m not a. . what do you call them — a runner.’

‘But you’re connected to someone who was.’

Joanne returned his stare. ‘Have you told this Jennings person that you’d found me?’