The Game

FORTY-FIVE

He would prefer to deal with Dietrich first — the biggest threat — but he was out of immediate attacking range, so Coughlin would get the knife resting next to Victor’s plate. It was a blunt, un-serrated butter knife, no good at cutting, but driven down with strength and skill would impale the hand Coughlin had helpfully left resting on the kitchen table. That one-second attack would take Coughlin out of the fight just long enough for Victor to deal with the others.

The problem then was that Victor would have used up his closest and most effective improvised weapon to immobilise Coughlin. A fork in the back of the hand wouldn’t penetrate to anywhere near the same degree but he wanted the knife in his hand when he went for Dietrich.

If Victor went for Dietrich first, he would lose precious time covering the distance and present his back to Coughlin while he dealt with Dietrich. Even though Victor didn’t consider Coughlin a threat in a one-on-one confrontation, he didn’t like the idea of losing sight of him during the attack. He had to immobilise Coughlin fast and first with the knife, which meant he needed another weapon for Dietrich.

The kettle. It was still on the stove. He’d filled it with more water than he’d needed for the cafetiere so he would have a short-range missile within reach should he need one. He couldn’t miss with a quick throw, and Victor only needed to slow Dietrich down enough to stop him drawing the knife from his belt sheath before Victor got to it first and used it to expose Dietrich’s intestinal tract to the elements.

Which left Francesca and Leeson.

She wasn’t an enemy or a threat, but if she got in his way she would slow him down a second or two. And if Leeson knew Victor wasn’t Kooi, he would be alert and ready. In the one second it would take to deal with Coughlin, added to the two seconds for Dietrich, combined with the second or two to get past Francesca, Leeson would have gained four to five seconds in total to react to the attack, draw his gun, release the safety, aim, and—

Victor would take a .22 calibre bullet in his centre mass.

At this range Leeson wouldn’t miss. And even if he didn’t score a one-shot drop, Victor wouldn’t then be able to reach him in time to stop him firing a second, a third and a fourth.

He knew his only hope was that Leeson would panic and react too slowly in his shock and surprise. But Leeson wasn’t the same man he had been twenty-four hours ago. By having him guard the corridor and kill the Georgian who had tried to flank them, Victor had given Leeson his first experience of facing violent death and triumphing. Leeson would be less terrified in a similar situation now he knew he could survive one, and less fear meant less shock and less shock meant a faster reaction.

He had given Leeson exactly what he needed in order to kill him now.

Victor watched the younger man. He watched because he was waiting for that first sign. He watched because he would still attack even though it was futile, because while fighting there was always a chance and because even if that chance never materialised, Victor would die fighting as he’d always known he would.

He watched Leeson. Waiting for the first word. The first expression.

‘Good to see you boys are getting along,’ Leeson said.

‘We’re best buds,’ Coughlin said.

He slid his hand from the table, robbing Victor of his opening attack, but shifted in his seat to face Leeson. Victor pictured grabbing the fork first, not the knife, and stabbing it into the side of Coughlin’s now exposed neck, puncturing the carotid, leaving the knife free to drive into Dietrich’s left eye, saving a second. He would then get to Leeson a second quicker, before he could get his little SIG aimed, enabling Victor to rip from his hand and use it on Dietrich and then Coughlin if the initial attacks had not been fatal.

Victor watched Leeson. Because now he had an achievable plan.

‘Put your tongue back in your mouth,’ Francesca said to Dietrich, who hadn’t yet pulled his gaze from her.

He rested his elbows on the edge of the countertop and said, ‘Dress like that and men are going to look. Don’t want to be looked at, then don’t dress like that. It’s pretty simple.’

‘There’s a difference between looking and being a pig.’

Dietrich smirked and snorted.

‘How did you find your room last night, Mr Kooi?’ Leeson asked. ‘I appreciate it’s not exactly five stars here, but I do hope you slept okay on the bed.’

‘The room and the bed did their job.’

‘Excellent. Might I have a word in private, Mr Coughlin?’ Leeson asked.

‘Sure.’

Coughlin pushed back his chair and stood. Any chance of Victor killing him quickly vanished, but Leeson hadn’t yet shown any reason to make Victor think his ruse had been discovered. Unless Leeson was going to tell Coughlin when they were out of earshot. The two men stepped from the kitchen and into the lounge. Victor heard the wooden staircase creak as they ascended.

Francesca poured herself a coffee, sipped it, and raised her eyebrows in disapproval. She said to Dietrich, ‘Something else you’re not good at, I see.’

‘Nice try, sweetheart, but his majesty over there made it.’

She wrinkled her nose at Victor. ‘I’d have expected much better from a man of taste like you.’

She smiled, a thought amusing her, and a mischievous edge changed that smile. Victor knew things were about to get more complicated. She turned the smile towards Dietrich as she stalked over to Victor.

Her hand found his shoulder. ‘That said,’ she said to Dietrich as her slim fingers slid down to Victor’s chest, then his stomach, ‘he can get away with it when he has so much more to offer.’

Victor couldn’t see her face because his gaze was locked on Dietrich, but he knew she winked because Dietrich’s perpetual scowling expression deepened.

‘Word of advice,’ Dietrich said. ‘You’re too old to still be playing the whore.’

Victor straightened.

‘What?’ Dietrich spat and edged away from the countertop. ‘Did I offend your delicate sensibilities?’

Francesca said, ‘Not as much as you offend your reflection every time you look in the mirror,’ and laughed.

‘You’re too old to still be such a whore,’ Dietrich said again, stepping forward, ‘but I’ll still slap you like one if you’re not careful.’

Victor stepped forward too.

Dietrich eyeballed him. ‘You really think you could stop me?’

‘Not think,’ Victor said back.

‘I’m not sure why you have such an attitude, but I’m getting a little tired of it.’

‘I’m surprised it’s taken this long.’

‘You know what, your majesty, I’m thinking this bravado is nothing more than a smokescreen.’ He was close enough for Victor to smell the body odour. Not quite attacking range, but close to it. ‘All this tough guy talk is just that: talk. It’s all bullshit. Nothing but a bluff, and I’m calling you on it. You’re trying to hide it, but inside you’re terrified.’

Victor slowly raised and held out his left arm, palm facing up. ‘Would you like to check my pulse?’

Dietrich glanced at the wrist, then back up, and stared into Victor’s eyes.

‘Da dum,’ Victor said, low and slow, then paused for a couple of seconds. ‘Da dum.’

Dietrich smiled, as if he was about to laugh, as though it was all a joke.

But Victor said to Francesca, ‘Leave the room,’ because Dietrich’s right hand moved towards his waist.

She was out of Victor’s line of sight because she was behind him, but he knew she didn’t move because there were no footsteps and he could still hear her breathing.

‘Let her stay and watch the performance,’ Dietrich said as his fingers touched the grip of the knife sheathed to his belt. ‘I’ll show her what a real man can do.’

He withdrew his knife from its sheath.

‘Okay,’ Francesca said from behind Victor. ‘This has gone too far. You’re both real men. Each as much as the other. Put the knife away. Remember what Robert said.’

Dietrich shrugged. ‘I think I’m about to take some time off, so at this moment he isn’t my boss.’

‘Leave the room,’ Victor said again to Francesca, risking a glance over his shoulder for emphasis. ‘Now.’

He didn’t have to take his gaze off Dietrich to slide the butter knife from the table where he knew it sat. He held it so the blade protruded from the bottom of his fist. Fewer options for attack that way, only downward stabs — but the knife was too blunt to be otherwise employed effectively.

Dietrich looked at it without fear and sneered.

‘Robert,’ Francesca called. ‘Get in here. Get in here fast.’

‘Won’t do no good. I’m on a personal day, remember?’ Dietrich raised his weapon to sternum level, blade close to his torso, his free left hand out. He smiled at Victor, and said in a quiet voice, ‘Are you ready?’

Victor nodded.

Dietrich attacked.