Better Off Dead: (Victor the Assassin 4) (19 page)

The air smelled divine – blood and gunsmoke. Perfume of the gods. Sinclair sucked in a big lungful as he stepped forward. Spent brass cartridges crunched underfoot. The insidious blare of sirens grew ever closer. The mercenaries were getting restless. They were keen to withdraw. Sinclair was unhurried. He had no fear of the police, even without Anderton’s power over them.

Besides, he required answers.

Peering through the scope of his rifle from across the street, he had watched the flashes of gunfire play out through the windows of the first-floor offices and listened to the radio chatter of the assaulters with keen interest.

He’d dropped the first Russian as soon as the opportunity had presented itself – and a fine shot, even if he said so himself – much to the irritation of the assaulters, who would have preferred more time to get into position. Sinclair operated to his timescale, not to the whims of fools. That first kill had elevated his blood lust, but the Russians had refused to cooperate, annoyingly staying away from the reach of his rifle. With enormous self-restraint he had avoided taking shots based on muzzle flashes alone to avoid killing one of the assaulters by mistake. No tragedy in itself, but Sinclair didn’t want the hired mercs questioning his skills as an exceptional operator. He wanted only praise. Only glory.

‘It’s time to get the fuck out of here,’ Wade was saying.

‘Soon,’ Sinclair said.

The plan had not been for a prolonged firefight. Two two-man fire teams were supposed to clear the warehouse and overwhelm the Russians with flashbangs and automatic fire. A two-minute assault. Three, tops. Based on the assumption they were up against an outgunned and surprised resistance. But that was not what Sinclair had seen or heard. The Russians were not supposed to put up much of a fight, if any. Certainly not embed the assaulters into a prolonged gun battle.

Sinclair had intervened to save the attack.

Want a job done right
…
 

Only it hadn’t worked out like that. Sinclair wanted to know why. He wanted to know about the man he had fought – the man who had escaped with the girl.

Rogan said, ‘This one’s still alive.’

Sinclair turned and approached. One of the giant Russians lay slumped on the floor, unmoving, but his eyes were open and alert.

‘Dmitri, yes?’

The Russian didn’t respond, but Sinclair knew he’d understood.

He squatted down next to him. ‘I’ll give you a choice, sport. Tell me who your friend in the suit is and I’ll put you out of your misery.’ He drew his Kabar combat knife and began cutting. ‘Or don’t, and we’ll get to find out just how much pain you can take.’

The car was a rust-stained Ford that was almost as old as Gisele. It barely looked roadworthy but her companion selected it over newer, better vehicles. At first she didn’t understand why, but then she knew: it had no alarm as standard and was too neglected to have acquired one. She watched, a little in awe, as it took him six seconds to jimmy the lock and less than twenty to cross the wires beneath the steering column to get the engine started. She’d known cars could be hotwired, but had never seen anyone actually do it. The ease with which he managed it surprised her.

‘Get in,’ he said.

She didn’t care for the way the those two short words sounded suspiciously close to an order, but now was not the time to discuss his manners. She did as instructed, reluctantly at first because she knew it was stolen. She saw that he noticed she didn’t like getting into a stolen car any more than she’d liked him torturing and executing a man. He didn’t comment though.

Gisele slumped in the passenger seat and closed the door. She fastened her seat belt and he pulled away from the kerb, accelerating hard. Cars and buildings flashed past the window. She glimpsed smudges of people and the blur of bright signs glowing through the rain and night. Her companion drove like a racing driver – fast but in control, effortlessly weaving through the traffic while Gisele braced against the forces trying to fling her from side to side. He braked sharply to avoid a turning bus and the seat belt stopped her hurtling forward. Before she had taken a breath the force of the car’s acceleration pushed her back into the seat. From the corner of her eye she saw him glancing at her – concerned for her or what she might be doing, she didn’t know. She kept her own gaze forward and her mind on keeping the contents of her stomach where it belonged. Thank God she hadn’t eaten for hours.

She looked at his face. It was as blank as it had been when she had first met him in Yvette’s flat, as if nothing had happened between then and now.

‘Aren’t you scared?’ she said.

He didn’t answer her. It didn’t matter. She was scared enough for both of them.

‘I… I’ve never seen anyone die before. I’ve never even seen a corpse… This is crazy.’

‘There’ll be time to reflect later. For now, we need to put as much distance between us and the warehouse as possible.’

A horn blared as they overtook another car. She looked over her shoulder to see the silhouette of the car’s driver gesticulating his anger. She turned back, reaching out to grab the dashboard in an effort to steady herself as he performed another fast overtake.

A moment later, Gisele noticed the car was slowing down.

‘Why are you…?’

She stopped herself because she saw lights flashing ahead and seconds later the wailing of sirens reached her ears and a police car sped past them in the opposite lane. She twisted in her seat to watch it disappear into the distance.

‘Do you think they’re heading to the warehouse?’

‘Most certainly.’

‘Will those gunmen still be there?’

He shook his head. ‘They’ll be long gone by now. Like us. That’s why we have to keep moving.’

She thought of the terror she’d felt hiding behind the desk, waiting to be killed.

Tears welled in her eyes and she wiped them away with a sleeve before he could notice. She was determined not to cry. She didn’t want to be weak. Tears were losing control of emotions and she had to stay in control. She felt strange; not exactly scared but hyper-alert and aware of every sound and sight and sensation assailing her. She’d experienced something similar experimenting with drugs at university. This was real though, not some chemical artificially changing her consciousness. Her ears were hot. She placed a thumb to her neck to feel her pulse. The bursts of pressure were so fast she couldn’t count them.

‘Are you okay?’ the man asked as he accelerated again now the police car had vanished into the distance behind them.

A moment ago the answer would have been yes. Now, she felt panicked. ‘My pulse,’ she said. ‘My heart is beating too fast. I’m scared.’

He reached across and put the tips of two fingers over her carotid artery, driving one-handed. He held the fingers there for a few seconds. ‘Your pulse is about one hundred and thirty-two beats per minute. That’s fast, but nothing to be scared of. Breathe deeply and hold before releasing slowly.’

She did.
Nothing to be scared of
, she repeated in her thoughts.

‘There you go,’ he said. ‘It’s dropping already. You’re fine.’

She nodded. She didn’t feel fine but she felt slightly better.

‘What you’re feeling is perfectly normal.’

‘Then why aren’t you going through the same?’

‘This isn’t my first time in combat.’

‘Are you saying you’re used to it?
How
do you get used to it?’

‘Like anything else: with experience.’

Gisele stared at him. She wanted to ask what other experiences he’d had, but at the same time she also didn’t want to know. She kept her lips closed.

She watched the man as he drove, studying his expressionless face and rigid posture. Whoever he was, whatever his name, however he claimed to be protecting her, could she really trust him? No, she told herself. He glanced her way and she had been too lost in thought to look aside before their gazes met. His eyes were as black as the night outside. She didn’t know who he was. She didn’t know where he was taking her. She swallowed her fear before it could smash through her façade of composure.

She sat upright. If he wasn’t going to suggest it then she was. ‘We ought to go to the police.’

‘Why?’

‘What do you mean, why? Because of what just happened. The shooting. The
killing
. Armed men attacked us. This is a huge deal. We were involved. We have to explain what happened.’

‘It won’t do any good.’

She stared, incredulous. ‘How did you work that out?’

He said nothing.

She looked at him. ‘You mean it won’t do any good for you, don’t you?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Because you killed two men. Shit, you tortured one too. Oh God, this is crazy. You’re psychotic.’

‘I did it to protect you.’

‘Then tell them that. I’m a witness. I can back you up —’

He was shaking his head. ‘I’m not going to the police under any circumstances.’

‘And what about me? I can go. I’ll explain what happened.’

‘They’ll work it out eventually by themselves.’

‘That’s not the point. It’s our civic duty to report a crime. We have to. It’s the law. They can help us. They can help me.’

‘No, they can’t.’

‘That’s what they do. That’s the point. Slow down.’

‘Soon,’ he said.

‘Slow down,’ she insisted. ‘Now. You’re going to get us both killed.’

‘When we’re far enough away from danger, I will. Not before.’

She thumbed the button to release the seat belt. It swiftly glanced across her chest.

He saw. ‘Put that back on.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘It stays off until you slow down.’

He took his eyes from the road to meet with hers. She fought not to blink under the intensity of his gaze, but she held firm. She needed to make this stand.

He looked away and the car began to slow to something approaching the speed limit.

‘Engage the seat belt,’ he said.

She reached for it. ‘If you drive crazy again, it comes off. Understood?’ He nodded and she pushed the clasp back in the receiver. ‘Alex used to drive like a maniac when I was a kid. I hated being in the car with him. That’s probably why it took me so long to learn to drive.’

‘Understood,’ the man said.

‘Now, please, if you don’t mind, take me to the police so I can sort this mess out.’

He said, ‘There is no way to sort it, at least not for the police. You need protection and the police aren’t going to protect you. They’re going to take your statement and drive you home and leave a car outside your building overnight. And then what happens if they don’t catch whoever is after you? Do you think that car will stay outside for the rest of your life? What about at your office?’ She said nothing. ‘The police are not bodyguards. They will investigate thoroughly and completely, but only once you’re dead. Until then, you’re a waste of their resources.’

‘So you’re saying I’m helpless?’

‘No. I’ll help you. We’ll get through this together.’

She was shaking her head before he had finished. ‘No. Just take me to a police station, please.’

‘Not now. We have to create some distance first. If you still want to later, I will.’

She nodded because she didn’t believe him and she didn’t want him to know. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Then we call Alex. We need to find out if the others are okay and let Yigor know what happened.’

He didn’t respond.

‘Did you hear me? I want to know if Dmitri and the others got away.’

‘Later.’

‘Fine,’ she said again. ‘In the meantime, I have to use a bathroom.’

‘Soon. You’ll have to hold it.’

‘I can’t.’

His eyes flicked between the road and hers. She felt as though he would see through the lie had he not had to keep glancing away.

‘Okay,’ he said, finally.

The car stopped a few minutes later and Gisele was opening the door before he had finished applying the handbrake.

‘I’m leaving the engine running,’ he told her. ‘Be as fast as you can. If you hear a horn, I want you back here fast. Understand?’

She nodded without looking at him. ‘I’ve got it.’

The garage forecourt was empty of other cars. He’d parked close to the entrance of the store and she hurried the short distance to the doors, pushing one open with a shoulder and stepping into the warmth. The bright fluorescent lights made her squint after so long in the car. She searched with her eyes for the sign to the bathroom. A small sign was affixed to the wall above a door near to the counter.

‘You have to buy something,’ the young man said from behind a till.

‘I just want to splash some water on my face. I’ll be quick. Please.’

He was shaking his head before she’d finished talking. ‘You have to buy something.’

Gisele sighed and fished around in her pockets and collected some coins in a palm. She turned over her hand to set them down on the counter and headed for the bathroom.

‘What are you buying?’ the man asked.

She pushed open the door. ‘Anything. It doesn’t matter. You pick.’

Inside, she engaged the lock and leaned back against it. She took big, urgent gulps of air, then remembered what her companion had said and slowed her breathing and felt calmer. She didn’t need to use the toilet. She didn’t want to splash water on her face. She didn’t know what to think or do. She figured she had about five minutes before he would come looking for her. Gisele studied her reflection in the small mirror mounted above a sink stained with limescale. The harsh light wasn’t doing her skin any favours. She was always struggling with her complexion but now her make-up was smudged and her mascara had run. She was pale and drawn and her eyes were red and puffy. Her hair was a mess. Not that any of it mattered now.

She took her phone from her coat pocket. Gisele thumbed the screen and tapped in her code to unlock it. There were numerous texts and messages and updates and notifications that competed for her attention but she ignored them all and tapped the icon to make a call. Then she tapped nine-nine-nine.

Her thumb hovered over the dial icon.

We can’t go to the police
, he’d said. He would say that. He’d killed at least two men, torturing one of them. Whoever was after her, he was just as bad as they were. She didn’t know who he was. She didn’t even know his name. He’d rescued her, but from who? For all she knew, the men chasing her might be the good guys. Her companion certainly wasn’t. The police hadn’t been much help before, but she understood why. Nothing had actually happened to her. No crime had been committed. But they would help her now people were dead. They would believe her. They would protect her. Like her nameless companion had.

‘Shit,’ she whispered aloud.

Whoever he was, whatever he had done, he had risked his life to protect her. The two men who had chased them to the train yard had shot at them, or at least him. If it hadn’t been for her companion, who knows where she would be now. Captured? Dead?

Gisele pushed the home button to cancel the call and slid the phone back inside her pocket. She wasn’t prepared to sell him out to the police after what he’d done, but she had spent enough time in his company. She stood on her tiptoes to unlatch the window lock and push the window open. She slid off her coat and pushed it through the gap, climbing up as it fell out of sight and wriggling through after it. It was only a short drop to the ground outside. It felt like nothing after the drop from the warehouse window.

He was waiting for her. She didn’t see him straight away as he was standing with his back to the wall, out of her line of sight until she turned her head. Startled, she put a palm to her chest.

‘Come on, Gisele,’ he said. ‘We don’t have time for this.’

‘Get away from me, you fucking psycho.’

‘We’ve been through this,’ he said, stepping towards her.

‘You’re a psychopath. You murdered a defenceless man.’

‘You wouldn’t let me torture him. So no logical reason to keep him alive. He’ll be one less enemy to potentially deal with at a later time.’

‘You call that logic? He was wounded. He wasn’t a threat. He was shot, for God’s sake. And you could still have questioned him.’

‘To no gain,’ he said. ‘You took away his incentive to tell the truth. Any answer he gave would have been a lie.’

Her eyes were wide with shock and disgust at his blunt logic. She didn’t know how to respond at first. ‘You… you can’t be sure of that.’

‘Hence the necessity of torture.’

‘That’s no justification. Torture does not work. In my research —’

He cut her off. ‘When all this is over I’ll happily debate with you the merits or demerits of torture. But we don’t have time. We need to go. I’m here to protect you, Gisele. And to do that, you have to stay with me until this is over.’

She stepped away from him. ‘Until what is over? What
is
this?’

‘Until the threat against your father is over.’

‘Stepfather. Those guys back there, they weren’t Russian gangsters, were they? At the train tracks, that man was British.’

‘He was. As for the others, I don’t know. But you’re right, they’re not Russian mob.’

She kept backing away as he approached. ‘Then who are they?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘What do they want with Alex?’

‘I don’t know that either. But they want you for it.’

‘And you can stop them?’

He hesitated. She hadn’t expected that. She ceased backing away because he was no longer coming towards her.

‘I can’t promise that,’ he said, finally. ‘But there’s nothing I won’t do trying.’

She saw the sincerity in his eyes even if she couldn’t bring herself to believe him.

He continued: ‘The police can’t help you. We have no evidence. We have no idea who these people are or what it is they’re after, beyond you. The police can’t do anything with that. By the time they work out what’s going on, you’ll be dead. I can’t allow that. I won’t allow it.’

‘It’s not up to you,’ she protested. ‘It’s my life. I’m in charge of me. However much you care about it, you don’t care about it as much as I do. I’m not a child. I don’t know you. I don’t have to do what you say. If I want to go the police, then you should respect my decision.’

‘It’s not about respecting you or not. In this instance, I know more about these things than you do and I’m the best person to make decisions on how to keep you alive.’

‘Maybe so, and I will carefully consider your advice. But, ultimately, I make my own decisions. You can’t force me to do what you say.’ She read his look. ‘Are you telling me I don’t have a choice?’

‘I’m telling you that it’s better if you come with me willingly.’

‘So you’re prepared to kidnap me to stop them kidnapping me?’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘What is it then? What else do you call it?’

‘Protective custody.’

‘With emphasis on the word custody.’

He said, ‘For your own good. So I can make sure no harm comes to you.’

‘You say it as if you really mean it.’

‘Please, Gisele. Stay with me until morning. Let me protect you until then, at least. Get some sleep and at first light if you want to go to the police then I’ll drop you off at the nearest station. By morning, the police will have a good idea of what happened at the warehouse so you’re more likely to be believed than if you go now. But until then you need to be at my side. Whoever attacked the warehouse is still out there and if they tried that hard to get to you, they will be looking for you now. So we have to get off the streets.’

She eyed him, suspicious but failing to find a lie. ‘You’ll really take me to the police in the morning if I want?’

He nodded.

‘Swear?’

He nodded.

‘Say it.’

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I swear.’

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay with you tonight. But only because I can’t get my head around any of this and I don’t even know what I’d tell the police. You’re right, I need to sleep and I have to think.’

‘Good. First, we need to destroy your phone. Before you protest, it could be traced. I’ll buy you a new one.’

A sigh. ‘Fine.’

He led her back to the car and they climbed in.

After a moment, Gisele said, ‘What would you have done if I hadn’t come with you willingly?’

He turned released the handbrake and checked the mirrors. He didn’t look at her. ‘It’s probably best if I don’t answer that.’