Greed (8 page)

Matt ran his hand up the inside of her leg. The silk of the kimono was charged with static. He kissed her hard on the lips, feeling her tongue jab back at him, as he pushed her down on to the bed. She yielded, softly at first, then with mounting urgency. He could feel her turning him over, surprised by the strength of her shoulder and arm muscles as she pushed him roughly down into the mattress. Her red fingernails were clawing into his chest, her lips brushing against the skin of his neck.

A woman who likes to take control.

Half an hour later he lay back on the pillow, the smooth skin of Alison's cheek resting on his chest. He had noticed something in her eyes as they made love: passion, certainly, but an edge of anger, as if she were fighting him at the same time. He ran his hand along the curve of her spine, enjoying the way her flesh moved beneath his grip. Better than the first time, he reflected. Like a new gun, a woman always took time to get to know. You had to unlock her, find out which muscles to squeeze and what words to mutter in her ear.

'I was glancing through your file,' she said, her voice lazy and sleepy.

'Old war stories,' answered Matt. 'They don't mean much any more.'

'I was reading about Janos Biktier. That was some mission.'

The Kosovan warlord, thought Matt. The guy Cooksley, Reid and I finished off. 'Just work,' he said.

'His gang is still in business, though,' said Alison. 'And his son's in charge now. Nikolai Biktier. Nasty piece of work.'

'So what?' said Matt.

'Nothing worries you, does it? Not even the thought that one of those guys might come after you one day.'

Matt laughed. 'Right now, a few crazy Serbs are the least of my worries,' he said. 'I owe half a million to a psychotic Russian gangster, and I'm out to steal thirty million from al-Qaeda. Why worry about a Serb?'

Alison buried her face into his skin, her eyes closing. 'No fear,' she said softly. 'I like that in a man.'

It's in the morning that you can tell what a woman really looks like, Matt decided, dragging the razor across the stubble of his cheek. At night, their faces are painted, their bodies are decorated with jewellery and clothes, and their moods are lightened by wine.

Alison remained completely still while she slept, her hand lying across his chest. When she woke her face was as fresh and lively as it had been the moment she drifted off to sleep. She walked quickly from the bed on the first ring of the alarm at seven precisely, as if there was not a minute to be lost.

A woman who enjoys her work.

He dried his face. Matt hated shaving without foam, and with a woman's razor – but these came with staying overnight at a woman's place. Pulling his jeans back on, he stepped out into the sitting room. Light was streaming through the plate glass window. Alison was already dressed, wearing black linen trousers with a dark blue silk shirt, and a cream jacket was slung over her shoulder.

'Off to work?' He poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the table.

'This is work,' she said. 'I'm taking you to meet Ivan.'

He followed her towards the basement. Take the Porsche, she instructed him. She could get a taxi home later on. He steered the car out on to the King's Road. Victoria, she told him. They would meet Ivan close to the station.

On the car radio, there was a story about the assassination of David Landau. The Prime Minister was due to make a statement about the killing in the House of Commons this afternoon. There was speculation of new powers for the security forces to counter the threat from al-Qaeda.

'Is that what this is about?' said Matt, steering the car into Sloane Square. 'Landau's killing?'

In the car's mirror, Alison was applying some lipstick. 'It's about defeating al-Qaeda,' she answered.

'But getting to Landau – that was a blow for Five, wasn't it?'

Alison shrugged.

'You need some kind of public relations coup to make up for it, don't you?' Matt persisted. 'To make up for the fact none of you knew anything about that murder, or about September the eleventh either.'

'Just keep your eyes on the road,' she said. 'You worry about your job, I'll worry about mine.'

The Easy Everything cafe was right next to the railway station. At 8.15 in the morning, Matt was surprised by how full it was. There could have been fifty people there – mostly students, backpackers and travellers, all of them sitting by themselves, huddled over computer screens, cups of coffee at their sides. Alison walked swiftly towards the back of the room.

The man was sitting alone, his eyes peering at a web page.

'Ivan,' said Alison. 'This is Matt.'

The man raised a hand as if to silence her. Matt judged he was around thirty-two, thirty-three. He had short black hair, cropped close to his head, and he was wearing a white T-shirt and black jeans. A black leather jacket was slung over his chair. Tall and thin, his muscles tucked neatly into his arms. Probably a lot tougher than he looks, decided Matt. 'Give me two seconds,' he said.

The accent was Ulster, but the soft Ulster of the coast, not the harsh, grating Ulster of Belfast. Matt had learned to tell the difference when he had been in the Province with the Regiment. He glanced towards the screen, noticing how intently the man was staring at it, and the way his fingers were drumming against the desk.

Ivan moved and clicked the mouse, then looked up towards Alison, a mischievous grin playing on his face. He pushed the chair back, stood up and offered Matt his hand. His grip was warm, decisive. 'Bridge,' he said, looking towards Matt. 'The sport of princes. Do you play?'

'Princes?' said Matt. 'Why not kings?'

Ivan laughed. 'No, that's the horses,' he replied. 'And kings can afford to lose. Princes can't.' He paused, his eyes shifting towards Alison. 'There are only two games that require pure skill and brain power and are nothing to do with luck. Chess and bridge. But bridge you can play for money.'

'What about robbery?' said Alison.

'Ah, yes, robbery – that would be a third,' said Ivan, the smile remaining on his lips. 'Shall we find somewhere we can talk?'

Matt followed them towards a small cafe around the corner. He ordered a plate of bacon, eggs and beans. Ivan asked for the same, Alison for a slice of toast. Some workmen were sitting opposite them, discussing last night's football results. A couple of backpackers were looking at a map of London. Apart from that, it was empty. 'Which part of the Province are you from?' said Matt.

'Portrush,' said Ivan. 'Up on the north coast.'

'I know it,' said Matt. He assumed Ivan was another soldier, and immediately began wondering what regiment he might have been in. 'I did some work around there in the nineties. Lovely coastline. Windy, though. That air comes straight in from the North Pole. Gets into your bones.'

'It's lucky I never killed you then,' said Ivan, a gentle smile on his lips.

The food arrived on the table, the steam from the beans rising up into Matt's face. He paused. The words took a moment to turn through his mind. 'You're a Provo?' he said.

'Was,' said Ivan. 'Let's get our tenses straight.'

Matt looked towards Alison, but she was eating her toast, not looking at him. 'Maybe she didn't tell you, but I was SAS,' he said sharply. 'Past tense, too. But when it comes to a fight, I still know which side I'm on.'

'For this mission you'll be on the same side,' said Alison. 'You can both leave your history behind. This is a fresh start for both of you.'

'What did you do?' asked Matt. 'For the IRA.'

Ivan started eating his food. 'I broke safes,' he replied. 'The IRA does a lot of bank robberies, in the Province and on the mainland. That means cracking safes. That's my skill.' He paused. 'It's a bit like bridge, you see. A safe needs to be finessed.'

'The gear you're taking will be in a safe, Matt,' said Alison. 'None of your guys knows about that.' She smiled. 'So Ivan's on the team.'

'Why?' said Matt bluntly. 'What's your story? If you're a Provo safe-cracker, why aren't you round the corner casing the local Barclay's?'

'Tenses, tenses,' said Ivan. 'I
was
with the Provos, I'm not any more.'

'Nobody quits,' said Matt. 'It's against the rules. You resign, they kill you.'

'Ivan was turned by Five, Matt,' said Alison. 'He spent three years as an informer. Now he wants out. His cover could break any day. Five will help with a new identity and some money, but you know how it is. Ivan has a wife and two children. He needs
a lot
of money to disappear for ever. Five doesn't pay like that, it's not in our budgets.' She looked straight at him. 'You need a safecracker, he needs the work.'

'And Five's just bringing us all together,' said Matt sourly. 'Like one big happy family.'

Ivan pushed the remnants of his food away from him. 'Listen, you don't want me along, I'm not coming,' he said, his tone hardening. 'Frankly, I'm not crazy about working with a bunch of SAS tossers either. I might have been disillusioned with the Republican cause, man, but I've no time for the psychopaths, racists and bigots the British Army sent over to shoot
our
people either.' His face was starting to redden with anger. 'So, you want to blow your bollocks off trying to crack a safe? Go right ahead. Fine by me.'

'One question,' said Matt. 'Did you ever kill a British soldier?'

Ivan looked straight back at him. 'No,' he answered, his tone clear and direct. 'Did you ever kill a Republican soldier?'

'Three. All armed, all on active service.' He paused, looking directly at Ivan. 'I got paid for it, but I'd have done it for free.'

'Cool it, Matt,' Alison snapped. 'That war is over. We're fighting a new one now.'

What does she know about war? Matt asked himself.

She can start them, but she can't fight them.

He shook his head. 'There is no way I'm working with a Provo,' he snapped. 'You can just forget it.'

Matt walked silently down the street. His head was bowed, his muscles tightening. He was about to push a couple of million dollars off the table for a principle, but it was a good principle.

You never compromise with the enemy.

'You should have told me,' he said, not looking at Alison.

She said nothing.

'A Provo scumbag,' Matt continued. 'He's a traitor. He's betrayed one cause, he'll betray another. And Christ knows how I'll sell it to Reid and Cooksley.'

Alison stopped. 'For God's sake, grow up,' she said, swivelling around to face him. 'You need this job. This isn't some bloody pleasure cruise. You're going up against the toughest, best-organised terrorist group in the world. If there was one thing the Regiment should have taught you, it's that perfect planning makes for perfect missions, and fucked-up planning makes for fucked-up missions. And dead soldiers.'

Matt turned away from her.

'I'm planning the perfect mission,' he heard her say. 'Don't think for a moment that I give a damn for your feelings.'

'Feelings don't come into it,' Matt said, leaning into her face. 'What would you know? All you've ever done is sit behind a desk all day, sending men out to die. When you're in the field, you have to trust the men you're with absolutely. You have to be willing to die for them, and know they'd die for you.'

'You sound like a junior officer struggling to give his first pep talk and falling flat on his face,' she snapped. 'I've heard enough about duty and comradeship. In case you hadn't noticed, you're not in the Army any more.'

Matt looked away. A dark cloud was looming in the sky above them, threatening rain. 'When Reid was in the Paras, he was a corporal in a patrol that got hit with a pipe bomb by the IRA. Three of his friends died. I can't see Reid and your man Ivan getting on too well together.'

'We're professionals, Matt. We get the job done, no matter what it takes,' replied Alison. 'At Five we don't enjoy paying Provo informers. We don't like building a network of informers at every mosque in the country to keep tabs on al-Qaeda either. We do what we have to do.'

Matt turned to walk away. 'If Reid and Cooksley won't buy it, then neither will I. Your Irishman's out.'

'Then you're out as well, Matt,' replied Alison swiftly. 'This is my mission, don't forget that.'

Always level with the rest of the guys on the team, thought Matt. Whatever other rules you might have to break, that one must always be obeyed.

He looked across at Cooksley and Reid. They were sitting in a cafe just around the corner from his flat, finishing off some tea and sandwiches. Both men had travelled up from Hereford this morning, and although neither of them yet knew what the mission was, Matt could tell they were committed. They needed the money desperately. They would take whatever risks were necessary to get it.

'There's a problem,' he said simply.

'Already,' said Reid, fiddling with some Rizla papers. 'We haven't even started yet.'

Matt nodded. 'The woman running this is a Five officer called Alison,' he said. 'She wants us to bring along a guy called Ivan. He's a safecracker. The job is going to involve some explosives. That's his bit.'

'So,' said Cooksley. 'Sounds fair enough. Blowing a safe is a specialist job. None of us have training in it.'

'He's a Provo,' said Matt. 'Turned by Five, so he's a traitor as well.'

Around him, Matt could hear the clatter of plates and cups, the waitress shouting at the chef for more sandwiches. But on his table it was completely silent. Reid was holding his coffee halfway between the table and his mouth, but his hand had stopped moving. 'A Provo,' he said, lighting the cigarette he had just rolled, and taking a sharp intake of breath. 'I tell you what, Matt, I'll kill him, then we get on with the mission.'

'I don't like it, Matt,' Cooksley chipped in. 'A team has to have men who can trust each other.'

Matt shrugged. 'I've told her we don't want him,' he said. 'It's up to you guys. You don't want him, the mission's off.'

'Do the mission and then kill him,' said Reid, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. 'That's my plan.'

Reid and Cooksley sat quietly in the corner of the room. Matt recognised their expressions from a hundred different briefings when they'd all been in the Regiment together. Their faces said: What kind of crap are the Ruperts going to throw at us now?

'When do we hear about the dough, Matt?' said Cooksley, looking up from the sofa.

'When we're all together,' replied Matt firmly.

He went to answer the door. Ivan was standing outside. Matt showed him through to the sitting room, handing him a coffee. He checked his watch. Four minutes to three.