Better Off Dead: (Victor the Assassin 4) (15 page)

It was cold in the aircraft hangar. Outside it was less than ten degrees according to her car’s thermometer. Inside it had to be even colder, Anderton thought. She wore her long winter coat and scarf. There was no heating, obviously, and the domed ceiling was at least thirty metres overhead. Forty thousand cubic feet of space for aircraft was almost empty. The only vehicles inside were Anderton’s car and two black Range Rovers. Men climbed out of the 4x4s. Eight of them in total. Anderton knew their faces only because she had seen the files Marcus had supplied. She knew each man’s name and particulars because she had studied those files and memorised every detail. She had never worked with them before.

They dropped out of the vehicles, boots loud on the hard floor and echoing around the hangar. It took them a few minutes to assemble before her because they unloaded bags and rucksacks. Most eyeballed her a little, sizing her up and coming to all sorts of judgements and conclusions. They would have worked with intelligence officers before. They had probably all been screwed over or put in danger because of bad intel. She would be the whipping girl for their collective distrust and dislike of what they referred to as green slime.

But that was before, back when they had been serving their respective countries and risking their lives for far less money than anyone who gets shot at for a living should make. Now, they earned a lot more and didn’t have to answer for their actions. They were mercenaries. According to Marcus, his best. And if not his best, his most reliable. In Marcus’s world, on The Circuit, as private security contractors called it, reliability was code for willingness to do jobs that other mercenaries would not.
Don’t worry about this guy.
He’ll do what needs doing.
He’s reliable
.

That’s what Anderton required above all else. ‘What do you think?’ she whispered to the man next to her.

Sinclair shrugged by way of an answer and folded his arms in front of his chest. Ropey muscle tightened beneath the tanned forearms. Normally, the stance would have indicated defensiveness to Anderton, but coming from Sinclair it could not be read as such. Marcus had referred to him as a dog that should have been put to sleep, and he was at least half right. Sinclair was an animal, and therefore his behaviour could not be interpreted by human standards.

He was a white South African. Dangerous and unpredictable, but he was loyal and excelled at doing the kinds of things that turned even Anderton’s stomach.

Overhead fluorescent tubes bathed the mercenaries in harsh, unforgiving light. When they had formed a loose line, she closed the distance between them. The heels of her snakeskin boots clattered on the floor.

The hangar air was crisp and stank of diesel and engine grease and jet fuel. When she was three metres from the men it also stank of body odour. She reminded herself that a few hours before they had been in Libya and then on a flight. There was no lack of discipline in their hygiene. They simply didn’t have the time or opportunity to pay attention to activities like regular showers, shaving and using deodorant. Plus, she had been in some of the same parts of the world these men had recently operated in and most natives there didn’t either. They were all tanned from time in Tripoli, North Africa and the Middle East. Most had been in that region for months. She had winced when reading reports of some of the things they had done. But that was good. She didn’t want heroes.

They had been stationed in Libya for the last three weeks, working for Marcus as they had all done numerous times before. They were running a number of simultaneous operations for several different clients who had hired them through Marcus’s company. They had provided close protection for VIPs. They had conducted surveillance. They had trained and advised. And they had killed.

Anderton took a breath. She was well read. She was well prepared. Now it was time to get to work.

‘Gentlemen,’ she began. ‘Thank you for such a speedy arrival. I know Marcus hasn’t told you much about why you’re here.’

‘A job,’ one said.

His name was Wade, the team’s unofficial leader. The eldest and most experienced of them. He meant the kind of job that men like him and the others were qualified to complete; the kind of job that was discussed at night in aircraft hangars. Anderton didn’t know why Wade had given up a life of service to his country to work as a private security contractor, but she guessed it was in no small part influenced by the extra zero on his yearly income.

‘That’s correct,’ she said. ‘It’s a single objective operation to take into custody a civilian female. I’ve prepared a detailed dossier on the target, but the salient facts are: she is twenty-two years old; she’s —’

‘You’re hiring the eight of us to snatch one girl?’ said another – Rogan. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding.’

‘I’m about as far removed from kidding as it’s possible to be. Taking this girl into custody is the least you have to be concerned about, I assure you.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means I am not the only party interested in her. Her father is the boss of a Russian organised crime network and he’s dispatched some men to protect his daughter. To get to her, you’ll have to go through them.’

The mercenary snorted. ‘We eat Russian mafia for breakfast.’

Others smiled or smirked.

‘That’s great to know,’ Anderton said without inflection. ‘But I suggest you take them seriously. These are not street thugs we’re talking about.’

‘No offence, missy,’ Wade said, ‘but you’re not giving us a lot to go on besides your opinion. And you’ll forgive me if I don’t settle for the opinion of a desk jockey whose closest run-in with danger is using a pencil sharpener. We’ve been working round the clock down in raghead land and we’re a week into prepping our next action. We’re shipped off to London and all that work has gone down the drain like a turd. No single girl, even one with some gangsters guarding her, requires the eight of us.’

Another of the mercenaries said, ‘True story.’

‘Maybe you’ve all been in the sun too long,’ Anderton countered, calm and reasoned. ‘Forget what you’ve been doing.
This
is the only job you should care about. Clear?’

‘Waste of talent, is what it is,’ one of the men said.

Anderton smiled at him. ‘Then no doubt you’ll finish it in double-quick time.’

The hangar was quiet for a moment.

Wade straightened. ‘London is not like Libya. We fuck up in the slightest way and we find ourselves in the epicentre of an almighty shitstorm.’

‘Which is why you get paid so much, sport,’ Sinclair said.

Wade looked at him. ‘And who the fuck are you?’

Sinclair didn’t bother to answer with words. His gaze locked with Wade’s and his mouth stretched into a sardonic grin.

Anderton answered for him: ‘He’s an associate of mine. He’s part of the operation.’

Wade, clearly not liking Sinclair staring at him, said, ‘Can’t he answer for himself?’

Anderton said, ‘He’ll talk as and when he’s ready. But I’m in charge here and we have things to discuss.’

But Wade was in no mood to forget. He was still looking at Sinclair. ‘What’s the matter, boy? Too chicken to talk to me.’

Anderton saw the barb had only been half-serious, but Sinclair immediately tensed up and his fists clenched. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and menacing.

‘If I’m a chicken then I’m the meanest fighting cock you ever saw. And I’ll peck those eyes right out of your skull.’

He began walking towards Wade, who, not wanting to appear weak before his men, stood his ground.

When Sinclair’s face was inches from Wade’s, he said, ‘Wanna see how hungry I am?’

Wade said, ‘Back off.’

Anderton kept her cool. These guys were wound up tighter than she’d figured. She was all too aware she was standing in a room with eight trained killers who were a spark away from exploding.

‘What my esteemed associate was trying to say,’ Anderton continued, as if the stand-off wasn’t happening, ‘is that this job may not have a hard target but it is in a hard environment – one of the most heavily surveyed cities in the world, wherein there are many difficulties that can multiply into innumerable unknown factors that can potentially impede our ability to complete our objective and emerge on the other side with our skins intact. Hence the need for a large, experienced team.’

Sinclair, still in Wade’s face, nodded. ‘What she said.’

Anderton put a hand between them. ‘Gentlemen, if you’re done, we have a lot to go through before we move out…’

Gisele was quiet for the rest of the journey. She was quiet when Victor parked Dmitri’s car two hundred metres down the access road from the plumbing supplies warehouse. Victor climbed out first and scouted out the area. He saw and heard no threats and returned to the car. She looked at him, expectantly.

‘It’s clear.’

‘What’s clear?’ she asked.

He realised he had been thinking out loud. No, he corrected himself. He had been acting as part of a unit – on point – informing the rest of the team about the path ahead. It had been a long time since he’d thought and acted in such ways. He didn’t particularly like that Gisele had brought that behaviour out of him.

‘Nothing,’ Victor said.

He drove the remainder of the way and parked outside the warehouse.

‘It’s not exactly the Ritz,’ Gisele said as she closed the passenger door.

He didn’t respond because his first thought was that she was complaining, but then he saw her face and understood she was joking. For a moment it seemed as if she was enjoying herself, but he understood the humour to be a distraction; a front because she was nervous. She believed her life was in danger, but she didn’t want to believe it. Anything that eased the reality was a welcome diversion. If he could keep her safe while Norimov solved the problem, she might never have to know anything beyond that.

‘I’ll think of it like we’re going camping,’ she said, looking around. ‘Only without the scenery.’

‘Don’t be scared,’ he said.

‘Well, I wasn’t until you said that.’

Victor frowned. He wasn’t sure if he had been wrong in his assessment or if she was still joking. But this time, he remained silent. He let her in through the glass door next to the huge steel gate. He drew the pistol because he heard voices other than Dmitri’s and Yigor’s, but tucked it away again when he realised they belonged to more of Norimov’s men, newly arrived from Russia.

‘This way,’ he said to Gisele and took her up the stairs to the first floor of the office annexe.

‘When do we eat around here? I’m getting a little peckish. These hips won’t grow themselves, you know?’

‘Dmitri or Yigor might have some food, or they can go and pick something up.’

‘What are you, their boss?’

‘No. But I’m not leaving your side. So they’ll have to do the grunt work.’

‘You said you weren’t a bodyguard.’

‘I can’t protect you if I’m not with you, can I?’

She looked him over. ‘No offence, but you’re not exactly massive.’

He took no offence. ‘You’ll have to take my word that in keeping you safe my body mass will be the least important factor.’

‘
Gisele
,
’ Dmitri roared when they reached the boardroom.

He leapt to his feet and rushed her way. Victor moved to block his path but she stepped around him and embraced the big Russian, who lifted her up as he hugged her.

‘
Ugh
, don’t crush me.’

He was grinning as he gently lowered her down. Also in the room was Yigor along with three other of Norimov’s men. Victor recognised them all from the bar. The two he’d disabled outside the rear entrance were there, the smaller one sporting a nose splint and the larger one a scowling expression. The third man was Sergei. His scarred ear was bright red in the cold.

‘You found her,’ he said to Victor, who nodded.

The Russians all looked at him for an explanation but didn’t press when he failed to present one. Some knew Gisele. Others did not. They spent a few minutes introducing themselves or catching up. Victor pretended not to notice the stares he was getting from Aleksei and Ivan – the two he’d dropped outside the bar. Yigor was the only one of the five Russians Victor had not fought. He was glad to have avoided that. Yigor was the biggest of them all, and the one Victor saw knew how best to handle himself.

There were lots of happy faces and back-slapping. Gisele looked uncomfortable being the centre of attention.

He took the opportunity to ask her: ‘Why do you want to be a lawyer?’

Apparently relieved to be lured away from the jovial Russians, she said, ‘Because I believe in the law and I want to be part of it.’

‘But why?’

‘Oh, look at you, wanting to find out how I tick. I’m flattered. Nay, humbled.’

‘That’s not answering the question.’

‘You’re a pushy one when you want to be, aren’t you? Wish I hadn’t let you off the hook so easily beforehand, but fine, I’ll justify myself to you if that’s what you want. Everyone hates lawyers, don’t they? That makes no sense to me. Sure, there are some sharks out there, but aren’t there in any profession? And how many of those professions are more essential? Not many, I’ll tell you that. We need lawyers to ensure the law is followed, because the law is the very definition of society’s morality. It should be formidable and scary and vengeful, but also understanding and gentle when required. It doesn’t always work and it almost never achieves true justice, but it’s all we have and it’s better than the alternative.’

‘Which is?’

‘Barbarism.’

‘Very articulate.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you being sarcastic?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Okay. Good. Thank you, then. I think.’ After a pause, she grinned. ‘Also, you can earn a decent living. Which is useful because I like nice things. I’m not all about the altruism, you know. Let’s call that Alex’s influence. I’m trying to shake it off. Might take a few more years. What about you? You said your name is Vasily, yes?’

He nodded. He felt the accusation in her tone.

She affirmed it when she said, ‘But you’re not Russian.’

‘It’s the name your father knows me by.’

‘So what’s your real name?’

He didn’t answer.

‘What? You’re joking, right? I come here with you, trusting you, and you won’t tell me your name? That’s ridiculous.’

‘I don’t expect you to trust me. I said I hope that eventually you will. It’s safer for you if you don’t know who I am.’

‘That’s a lie.’

He said, ‘It’s as close to the truth as either of us needs.’

She frowned, open-mouthed, trying to decipher the comment. He was spared further interrogation because she heard Sergei say to Yigor, ‘We’ll take her back in the morning. No one will get to her between the five of us.’

‘Hey, hold on a minute,’ she said. ‘Who’s this you’re taking
back
? If by “her” you mean me, then I hate to rain on your parade but there isn’t a snowball’s chance of my going to Russia with you.’

‘Gisele, please,’ Sergei pleaded. ‘You have to come with us. We’re going to keep you safe. Okay?’

She pointed a thumb at Victor. ‘I thought that was his job.’

Sergei said, ‘He’s done his job. Now, it’s our turn. You don’t need him any more. You have us. Your father wants you at his side. It’s safer there.’

‘He’s not my father. And if you try to take me to Russia I will scream all the way through passport control. Try it. Let’s see if I’m joking.’

Sergei turned to the other Russians for backup. They looked away or shrugged. They were well used to beating cooperation out of people, but had no clue how to handle their boss’s rebellious stepdaughter.

She turned to Victor. ‘Are you going to back me up, or what?’

He realised he didn’t know how to handle her either. He said, ‘We can discuss the particulars tomorrow,’ to put a halt to further discussion or potential argument. He wasn’t yet sure of his next move. He had to rest and recharge.

Gisele said, ‘Whatever. But I’m not going anywhere, just so you know.’

‘I’ll go get food,’ Yigor announced with a clap of his hands. ‘We should celebrate, yes? Eat lots of bad food and drink lots of good vodka, yes?’

‘No one drinks alcohol,’ Victor said, ‘until this is over.’

Gisele looked at him. ‘Wow, you’re a party animal, aren’t you? Personally, I could use a few shots to help forget all this life-and-death stuff. It’s getting a bit old.’

‘When this is over,’ he insisted.

‘I’ll hold you to that. You can buy me a cocktail.’

Yigor sneered at him as he put on his coat. ‘Yes, Mr Bad Man. You the boss.’ He saluted. ‘Just the food.’