The Game

THIRTY-FOUR

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.