The Darkest Day

FOURTEEN

Victor had never been in Ireland on a cloudless day, but the sky above the city was as blue as he had ever seen it. The temperature was pleasant enough. Sunglasses and T-shirts were plentiful, even if shorts were not. He was on the south bank of the River Liffey, enjoying the sun on his face and the wind in his hair. As capital cities went, Dublin was as clean as any he had visited. On a roof five storeys up, the air smelled as fresh as countryside.

He liked Ireland. He liked that of all the countries of Europe, Ireland was one of the handful he had never worked within as a professional. That made it as safe to operate in now as anywhere could be for him.

Victor had a great view of the O’Connell Bridge and the streets that fed into it. The bridge was greater in width than the river it spanned. It had six lanes for traffic, separated by a central reservation on which stood wooden and metal boxes of flowering plants. Ornate lamp posts were spaced along at regular intervals. Connecting Dublin’s main thoroughfares, the bridge was often busy with traffic, but not today. It had been closed to vehicles.

Thanks to Victor’s view, he could see every one of the team. He counted eleven threats in all. They had spread themselves out — four were positioned on the south side of the river to watch each of the four roads that fed on to the bridge; three were doing the same job on the north side of the river; the other four were spaced out along the bridge itself with two on the west side and two on the east.

The client had yet to arrive.

Either the client had listened to what Muir had to say and deduced that Victor was going to kill him — which was a distinct possibility — or he had decided Victor was the kind of problem he didn’t need in his life. At that moment, it was hard to know which of the two explanations formed the justification for the presence of an eleven-strong team.

They were watchers right now, but he could tell they were more than mere pavement artists. They were all men, which he hadn’t expected. Multi-sex teams made far better shadows. It was easier to hide in plain sight as part of a couple than as an individual.

Over half were not Caucasian and those that were had tans from time spent in sunny climes. These facts led Victor to believe they weren’t locals but ex-US military, which had a disproportionate percentage of minority representation — which suggested that the client was as well. The client knew who he was dealing with. He wouldn’t trust his life to outsiders. Military men tended to put more faith in their own kind than intelligence operatives. Likewise, spies trusted other spies more than they did grunts or jarheads. The watchers were easy to spot because they arrived early to settle into their spots and they didn’t leave them again. They did their best to act inconspicuous, but there were only so many ways one could hang around doing nothing. They would have vehicles nearby, but there were few places to park in the vicinity, and none provided a good view of the bridge. So they had to be on foot, and in the open. They couldn’t hide. It would be a waste of manpower to have still more. If the client had brought an eleven-strong team to protect him, he wouldn’t have left men behind that could be better employed in his defence.

Victor had half-expected to find a watcher on the roof where he now crouched, but the client or whoever was in charge of his security had decided it was better to have the whole protective detail on the ground, where they could be employed in a range of tasks. Positioned on a roof might be useful for seeing Victor coming, but no good for doing anything about it.

Unless he planned to kill the client with a rifle. It was interesting that they hadn’t accounted for that. Or had they?

The lack of watchers on rooftops implied they hadn’t been able to get rifles into Ireland for snipers, which could reveal a lot about the client and his influence or lack thereof, but it was as likely they didn’t want gunplay on the streets of Dublin, whatever Victor’s intentions or their own. If he were to die, they would smuggle him into the back of a moving van and take him somewhere remote and quiet. No need to upset the locals.

Victor’s plan was working so far. It was ten minutes to midday and he had spotted the entire team and assessed their capabilities. They were good. They had positioned themselves well and done as good a job as could be expected at remaining unseen.

Professionals, but not the best.

Which again suggested ex-military. They had spent their lives training for battle, not for urban surveillance. If it came to violence, they would be more dangerous as a result, but it shouldn’t come to that if everything worked out as Victor had planned.

He wore khaki trousers and a denim jacket over a black T-shirt emblazoned with a faded motif of a band he didn’t recognise. A camouflage baseball cap covered his hair. All had been purchased from charity shops and dirtied in puddles. Non-prescription glasses completed the look.

The disguise was basic, and wouldn’t fool anyone who knew his face and was looking out for him, but it would be enough here.

With five minutes to go before midday, the client arrived.