The Game (16 page)

Forty-eight minutes after Victor had climbed into the limousine, Leeson directed him via the intercom to turn off the motorway. The signing for Rome was obvious, even for someone who couldn’t read Italian, but Leeson offered the instruction before Victor had to decide how far to push his supposed ignorance. The SUV turned off too. So did both cars that followed between the limousine and the SUV. But at a traffic island they took different exits. Only the SUV remained.

It was closer now and in the glow of streetlights Victor saw it was a big Jeep Commander driven by a man with a passenger at his side. He couldn’t make out many details but the driver was taller and broader than the passenger, although not hugely so. Like Dietrich was to Coughlin. Maybe Jaeger was in the back. The Commander had plenty of room to accommodate him comfortably. The whole team together.

Except Victor.

‘Second right,’ Leeson said, the intercom light disappearing as soon as the words had been spoken.

A minute later: ‘You just missed the turning, Mr Kooi.’

‘My apologies,’ Victor replied. ‘I’ll take the next one.’

He did. The Jeep did too.

‘How’s your hunger level now?’ Leeson said.

‘Building.’

‘Take a left at the end of the block,’ Leeson said. ‘And please try not to miss it.’

Victor drove down narrow streets alive with light and colour. Glowing signs advertised bars and restaurants. The pavements were packed with tourists and natives alike, all out to make the most of life. There were couples and groups of friends of all ages and races. They joked and laughed as they walked by open-fronted establishments bustling with people. No outside table was unoccupied. Victor drove slowly, not because of traffic or pedestrians crossing back and forth, but because the Jeep was no longer following. He hadn’t tried to lose it. He had simply taken a turning and it hadn’t.

Maybe Leeson had told them to back off to avoid being spotted. Maybe.

The partition window slid open and Victor saw Leeson’s face in the mirror.

‘Second right and we’re there,’ Leeson said, and checked his watch yet again.

They weren’t running late. There was still ten minutes left to meet the reservation at the restaurant, which would be close by. Leeson wouldn’t have the limousine parked a significant distance from his destination. There was no point in paying for armour plating only to walk unprotected for half a mile to reach it. They were close to the restaurant and not pushed for time. If Leeson was obsessed with punctuality Victor would have seen it before now. Perhaps there was another deadline to meet that Victor didn’t know about.

He saw their destination as soon as he had taken the turning. Fifty metres ahead a giant sign advertised a multi-storey parking garage.

‘I wouldn’t park here,’ Victor said as they approached the entrance.

‘Why ever not?’

‘These places are full of blind spots.’

‘Mr Kooi, you’re sitting behind the best bulletproof armour money can buy. I can assure you there is nothing to be scared of.’

‘There’s no such thing as bulletproof.’

‘Regardless, there is no reason to be concerned.’

‘I take it you plan on leaving the vehicle?’

‘Of course,’ Leeson replied. ‘And that’s why I have you.’

‘I’m unarmed.’

‘Then you can point out who I need to shoot at.’ When Victor didn’t smile, Leeson said, ‘I don’t think we need to be overly cautious. Rome is a reassuringly safe city. Besides, we can’t leave the Rolls on the street, even if we could find a parking space big enough. I don’t want some delinquent keying it. The have-nots always despise the haves for working harder than they do.’

‘I strongly suggest you reconsider.’

‘Your advice has been noted, Mr Kooi, and I’m ignoring it. Now find somewhere to park.’

Victor buzzed down the driver’s window to take a ticket. The barrier opened and he drove through.

At six metres in length the Phantom required two parking spaces back to back, which proved impossible to find on the first four levels. Victor drove slower than he needed, gaze continuously sweeping the area, half expecting to see the Jeep parked in some corner where it would be missed by a casual glance. It wasn’t there. But it wouldn’t be far. It hadn’t followed them closely all the way to Rome to leave them alone now they’d arrived.

The only level with room to park the limousine was the roof. It was less than a third full, with cars scattered across its space, but concentrated at a slightly higher density near the entrance and exit ramps. Victor selected a spot away from both, but where he could see the entrance ramp and the door to the stairwell when he parked. A corridor of empty parking spaces lay directly between Victor and the exit ramp, some twenty metres away. He applied the handbrake and turned off the engine.

He sat for a moment in the seat, watching the entry ramp, waiting for the Jeep to appear. The roof would be a good place for an ambush. There were no pillars for an assailant to hide behind and fewer cars to provide concealment, but once out of the car there was no protection for its passengers and nowhere to go. But while in the limousine any attack would be doomed to failure. Those carrying out the assault would need a large calibre machine gun or RPG to get through the armour plating, and Leeson was inside as a human shield. But once Victor stepped outside the vehicle everything would change. He didn’t park close to the ramps because he wanted to see them coming before it was too late.

‘Keys,’ Leeson said.

Victor slid the key out of the ignition and held the ring through the partition window for Leeson to take. Leeson reached out his hand and Victor watched the younger man’s gaze drop to the keys.

‘Let me get out of the car first,’ Victor said.

Leeson’s eyes angled upwards to meet Victor’s in the mirror and he swept the keys out of Victor’s hand without looking at them. ‘Of course you get out of the car first,’ Leeson said with a hint of incredulousness in his voice. ‘How do you open my door otherwise?’

When the keys were in Leeson’s pocket, Victor opened the driver’s door and stepped out. The night air was warm. He heard traffic and faint music. He kept his gaze on the entry ramp as he held open the rearmost cabin door.

‘Tell me,’ Leeson said as he glanced at the entrance to the stairwell, ‘what is the point in arriving in luxury if one has then to walk further than necessary?’

‘Having legs is a luxury.’

Leeson nodded as though he was genuinely considering the point, then asked, ‘Hungry yet?’

‘I can eat,’ Victor said.

‘Fabulous. Do you like Japanese food?’

‘Who doesn’t?’

Leeson gestured towards the exit. ‘Then you’ll love where we’re going. I think it’s the only one in the city. Italian cuisine is indeed divine, but Italians would do well to diversify their tastes a little. I recommend the katsu curry if your palate can handle a bit of fire.’

Victor walked a little way ahead, as Leeson expected, and kept the door in his line of sight as he glanced at the overlooking buildings, picturing Coughlin at a window or on a roof, peering down the scope of his rifle as he had watched Victor on the wasteland in Budapest.

He motioned for Leeson to stop about three metres from the door. Victor opened it, peered inside to check there were no surprises, then ushered Leeson through.

‘Elevator or stairs?’ Leeson asked.

‘Always stairs.’

‘Making use of the luxury of having legs, I take it?’

‘You need to be alive to make use of them.’

Leeson looked at him with a little smile as he processed the point. ‘I have to say, Mr Kooi, I’m impressed with your level of caution. Neither Mr Dietrich nor Mr Coughlin has expressed anything close to the same level of awareness to security.’

‘And Jaeger?’

Leeson looked at him. ‘I would imagine that it is the world that needs to be cautious of him. Not the other way around.’

‘No talking as we descend,’ Victor said, then added when Leeson raised his eyebrows in confusion, ‘our voices will echo in the stairwell and carry further. Any threat will be able to pinpoint our location with a higher degree of accuracy than with footsteps alone. Plus, if we’re speaking it will be harder to hear any threats in return.’

He wasn’t expecting threats. He wanted to listen out for the rumble of a big SUV’s exhaust on one of the levels they passed.

‘It’s comforting to know you are at my side, Mr Kooi,’ Leeson said, and checked his watch.

In return, Victor would take comfort in knowing where Dietrich, Jaeger and Coughlin were, and more importantly, what they were doing there.

‘Worried we’ll be late?’

The younger man looked up and met his gaze. He shook his head as if the fear of tardiness was the very last thing that would ever occupy his thoughts.

They descended the stairs with Victor leading. Leeson followed half a flight behind. Their shoes clattered on the concrete steps and echoed in the stairwell. The exit opened out onto the ground floor of the parking garage, next to the automated ticket machine. The level was bright with fluorescent lights, reducing the shadows to blurred outlines around cars and pillars.

‘How far is the restaurant?’ Victor asked as his gaze roamed their surroundings.

‘Not far,’ Leeson answered. ‘A couple of minutes maximum.’

Outside they turned left. Victor walked alongside Leeson as would a well-trained bodyguard. If he walked ahead he could better handle threats from the front, but would be useless at any originating from behind Leeson. The reverse was true if he walked behind. Next to Leeson provided the best compromise. He could also shove him to the ground or behind cover if necessary. Victor wasn’t a bodyguard, he wasn’t guarding Leeson against potential threats, but he wanted him to think he was.

The street was relatively quiet, with intermittent passing cars and a steady but light flow of pedestrians. Opposite the parking garage was a line of stores, all closed for the night so those on foot had no reason to use the street as anything other than a thoroughfare. Except a man standing on the corner up ahead. He stood on the opposite side of the road, outside the glow of a streetlamp that silhouetted him and hid his features. His height and build was a match for Dietrich.

Victor glanced over his shoulder, searching for sign of Coughlin or Jaeger, but saw no one. Leeson did not react, but Victor wouldn’t have expected him to. The silhouetted man was about thirty metres away. As they neared he turned around and stepped through the light, and Victor saw a knitted hat covering the back of the man’s head, a black leather jacket, stonewashed jeans and thick-soled boots, but no recognisable features. By the time Victor was twenty metres away the man had rounded the corner.

Leeson glanced Victor’s way. ‘I’m looking forward to this.’

‘And me,’ Victor said.

Leeson was right about the proximity of the Japanese restaurant. It took one hundred and eighteen seconds to reach its front door from the point Victor had asked how far it was. They crossed the intersection on the opposite side of the road from where the man in the leather jacket had waited and walked twenty metres further along the street. Victor held the door open and Leeson passed him with an expected lack of thanks.

Inside, Victor’s nostrils were assailed by the smell of the open kitchen at the room’s far end. The room was dimly lit and the tables were set with plenty of space between them. It was more than half full, mostly with couples, except for a table of businessmen in suits celebrating the closing of a big deal. It had the unmistakable air of somewhere that served excellent food at massively inflated prices – somewhere Victor would not have chosen to eat, if only because the portion sizes would be such that he would leave hungry, or else be forced to eat half the menu.

An immaculately dressed maître d’ glided between the tables and greeted them with impeccable manners. She wore a black trouser suit and lots of makeup.

Leeson gave his name. ‘I have a nine p.m. reservation for my very good friend and I.’

The woman took menus from a stand and led them to their table. It was in the centre of the room.

‘Not here,’ Victor said. He’d already selected the most suitable of the available tables. He pointed. ‘That one, please.’

The woman nodded and changed direction, seating them at a table that lay along a wall, halfway between the door and the stone counter that divided the restaurant from the open kitchen. It was far from a perfect spot, but it would do. Victor drew back a chair for Leeson, who sat down facing the open kitchen, the restaurant entrance behind him. Leeson checked his watch as he shuffled the chair forward a little.

‘On time?’ Victor asked.

‘Precisely,’ Leeson said with a smile.

Victor glanced around the restaurant. There were no teenagers or children. The youngest person was at least twenty-five. Every diner was well dressed except himself, Victor noticed.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Leeson said. ‘So you are a little under-attired. Everyone will assume you’re so rich you’ve long since ceased to care about your appearance.’

‘Reassuring,’ Victor replied.

As they perused the menus, a waiter came by to take their order for drinks.

‘Two large Glenmorangies,’ Leeson said. ‘No ice.’

‘One,’ Victor corrected. ‘And a San Pellegrino for me.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Leeson said once the waiter had gone. ‘You’re driving.’

Victor nodded.

Leeson ordered shark fin soup and katsu curry. Victor asked for a green salad and stir-fried teriyaki vegetables with rice noodles.

‘Can you ask the chef to make the sauce extra sweet?’ he said to the waiter.

Leeson huffed. ‘A man can’t be sustained on such a meagre meal. At least have some chicken or fish with your stir fry.’

‘My stomach is a little raw today. I don’t want to upset it.’

‘Extra sweet teriyaki sauce?’

‘I want the sugar.’

The younger man laughed. ‘You never cease to surprise me, Mr Kooi. You might be the only gentleman I’ve ever met who can lay claim to such a thing.’

‘There is a first time for everything.’

They made small talk over their starters. Leeson revealed nothing about himself while asking nothing probing of Victor in return. The primary topic of conversation was the Rolls-Royce. Victor was happy to discuss it while he maintained a vigilant watch of the pedestrians and vehicles that passed by the restaurant’s plate-glass front.

The waiter cleared their tableware and they assured him of the starter’s quality. Victor asked for a replacement for his empty bottle of mineral water.

Leeson toyed with the Scotch in his glass. ‘Thirsty?’

‘It’s important to stay hydrated.’

A smirk. ‘And how did I know you were going to say that?’

‘Then my run of surprising you was short lived.’

Leeson said something in return but Victor wasn’t listening. A car drove past on the road outside, and its headlights momentarily illuminated the mouth of an alleyway on the opposite side of the street and the two men standing there. One taller than the other, and broader. One in a knitted hat, black leather jacket, blue jeans and boots. The second wearing the same outfit, except his leather jacket reached his knees. They were too far away and the illumination too brief to see their faces.

Dietrich and Coughlin.

Their surveillance had been obvious from the beginning when Victor had spotted the SUV tailing him on the motorway, and then on the street corner. He could put the first two incidents down to underestimating him, or maybe even over-eagerness, but standing across the street with only the most basic attempt at concealment was too sloppy for men of any skill if they wanted to remain unseen. Which made Victor doubt there was an ambush waiting to be initiated. More likely they wanted him to see them. Leeson wanted him to know they were never far away. He trusted Kooi enough to go to dinner with him, but not enough to be unprotected. If Leeson was testing his trustworthiness they would have kept themselves hidden.

Something didn’t sit right with the assessment, however. He knew there were facts he wasn’t privy to, and so any conclusion he reached was unreliable. He survived primarily by constantly assessing the odds, by predicting threats before they appeared and acting instead of reacting.

Another car passed and again Victor glimpsed the two men.

Far too sloppy.

Something was wrong.

‘You told me the cell reception at the farmhouse is unreliable,’ Victor said.

‘That’s right.’

‘Yet I saw both Coughlin and Dietrich have phones.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Then call them.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’ll explain later and I’ll apologise if I’m wrong. But for now do exactly as I tell you: call Dietrich.’

‘I think you’re forgetting your place, Mr Kooi. You should remember that—’

‘Call Dietrich. Now.’

Leeson scowled, but recognised that arguing further with Victor was not in his best interests. He placed his tumbler on the table and fished a phone from the inside pocket of his jacket. He thumbed a code to unlock it and made the call.

‘It’s ringing,’ Leeson said. ‘What do you want me to say?’

‘Hand me the phone when he answers.’

‘You need to explain yourself immediately or there will be—’

Victor leant across the table and tore the phone from Leeson’s grasp, and held it to his ear. Leeson’s eyes narrowed and his face reddened, equally furious and humiliated.

The dialling tone cut off and Dietrich said, ‘How’s your dinner?’

Victor didn’t reply. He waited. A car drove past on the street outside the restaurant.

He hung up and looked at the call log. There were no names, only numbers. ‘Which one is Coughlin’s?’

Leeson said nothing. He glared at Victor.

Victor stared at Leeson, eyes unblinking, every iota of his lethality succinctly expressed in the gaze. ‘His number?’

‘It ends with oh-nine,’ Leeson whispered between clenched teeth. ‘It’ll be the last but one.’

The phone was already dialling before Leeson had finished speaking.

‘Sir?’ Coughlin answered.

Victor remained silent.

‘Sir,’ Coughlin said again, ‘is everything all right?’

Victor remained silent.

‘Are you there, Mr Leeson?’

A bus passed on the road outside. The glow from its big headlights washed over the two men in the alleyway. One had his hands in his pockets. The other’s hung loose at his sides.

It had been the same when Dietrich had answered.

Victor disconnected the call and tossed the phone to Leeson, who just managed to catch it.

‘Just what the hell is going on, Mr Kooi?’ he snarled.

‘Do you have any enemies?’

Leeson didn’t seem to hear. ‘I’ve had as much as I can take of your insolence, Mr Kooi.’

‘Listen to me carefully. A Jeep Commander followed us to Rome. There’s two guys now standing across the street. I thought they were Dietrich and Coughlin. They’re not.’

Leeson’s brow furrowed. ‘Of course they’re not. They’re both busy on my orders.’

‘So I say again: do you have any enemies?’

Leeson sat back, anger starting to fade, but he wasn’t grasping what Victor already understood. ‘Do you think a man in my line of work does not generate enemies?’

‘Who could have known about the farmhouse?’

‘No one. It’s an impossibility.’

‘The Rolls then. Who knows about the limousines?’

‘I, uh… I’m not sure.’

‘Tell me who might know.’

Fear crept into Leeson’s expression. ‘Georgians.’

‘Mob?’

Leeson nodded. ‘An organisation in Odessa. Half of them are former KGB and SVR. God, I—’

‘I don’t care what you did to them. If you want to survive this you’re going to need to do exactly what I say. No questions. No hesitation. I say; you do. Understand?’

Leeson nodded frantically. ‘You’ve got to protect me, Mr Kooi. These people are animals. They’re absolute animals.’

The waiter arrived and placed Leeson’s curry and Victor’s stir fry on the table. He bowed briefly and left.

Victor grabbed his fork and began eating.

Surprised, Leeson stared at him for a moment. ‘What… what the hell are you doing? We need to go. Right now.’

Victor spoke between chews. ‘I haven’t eaten in a long time. I need to fuel up.’

Leeson’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘We need to get out of here. I’m ordering you to.’ He pushed his chair back.

‘Go and die on your own if you wish.’ Victor waved a hand towards the door. ‘Or you can stay with me and live.’

Victor ignored Leeson while he shovelled into his mouth the crispy vegetables that wouldn’t bloat his stomach or weigh him down, along with the sauce packed with simple carbohydrates that would load energy into his blood. He’d ordered it in preparation for facing Dietrich and Coughlin, not Georgian criminals, but the benefits were the same.

‘Drink some water,’ he said to Leeson.

Leeson reached for his Scotch.

‘No, drink water.’

The younger man did, downing half the glass in one go. His face was pale.

‘Don’t worry,’ Victor said. ‘They’re not going to make the attempt while you’re in here unless we give them reason to. So get a hold of yourself.’

Leeson wiped his mouth with the back of his shirt sleeve, took a breath and nodded. ‘What do we do?’

‘Go to the men’s room. Put your gun in the bin. Then come back here and wait while I go and get it.’

‘Okay.’

‘Don’t forget the spare mags.’

‘I don’t have any.’

‘Then just leave the gun.’

Leeson nodded again and stood. He looked unsteady.

‘Keep calm,’ Victor said. ‘Don’t let them know we know.’

Leeson sucked in a large breath, relaxed his face as best as he could, and headed for the toilets.

Across the street, the two Georgians waited.