Greed

FIFTEEN

Matt fished the mobile out of his pocket, glancing down at the display. It was Reid. He jabbed his thumb against the answer button. 'You OK?' he said quickly.

'A bit bruised, but still breathing,' said Reid.

'What happened?'

There was a pause on the line.

Right now, anything could happen.

'Your poofy pal, Damien,' said Reid, the words twisting on his lips. 'He's buggered off.'

'What?' Matt slumped back against the wall. He was sitting on the floor of the kitchen in Cedar Road. Ivan was brewing up a pot of tea. Ahead of him, Whitson's body was lying stretched out on the floor, waiting to be disposed of.

'Tell me about it,' he said.

The story took about ten minutes to tell, interrupted by some noises in the background from the children. The two men had driven together to Reid's house in Herefordshire, collected Jane and the kids, then driven across country towards the Peak District. In total, they had been driving for about six hours: three hours from London to Herefordshire, then another three hours by the time they arrived in Derbyshire. They stopped briefly in Derby, because Damien said he wanted to rent a car so he had his own transport — after that, he had followed them in a rented Peugeot 205. Reid had been exhausted by the time they got there. Jane had put the kids to bed, then rustled up some chicken and rice for supper. Reid had reckoned they would have a couple of beers to relax, then get some sleep. 'But Damien announces that he has to go out,' Reid continued.

'And you tried to stop him?'

'Of course, I bloody did. Cooksley's already dead, and someone is after us. You said we have to stick together.'

Matt sighed. He knew Damien well enough to know that he wasn't going to put up with Reid telling him what to do. Damien had always been a man who walked along his own path. He knew nothing about teams, or how to work with them.

'He lost it, right?'

'Like a rocket with the blue fuse lit,' Reid said. 'Started telling me I couldn't tell him what to do. I argued with him, said we had to stay together, that it was only one week until we collected the money. He seemed to accept that, calmed down for an hour or so. I was just ready to turn in, when out of the upstairs window I see him slipping out of the lodge, and heading for his car. I was about to run after him, but he'd locked the door to the bedroom and tossed away the key. By the time I got out he'd vanished.'

'No indication of where he was going?'

'Nothing,' Reid answered. 'I would have chased after him, but I didn't want to leave Jane and the kids by themselves.' He paused. 'I don't like it, Matt. I know he's a friend of yours, but that's no way for a man to behave. This is the guy who's meant to be fencing our money for us, and now it turns out we can't trust the bastard.'

'There's probably nothing to it,' said Matt.

'Fuck it, Matt — I don't like it one bit,' Reid snapped. 'I want to know where he is. And I want him back here where I can keep an eye on him. He could be buggering off to take all our money. Or he could be coming back in a black mask to kill us all.'

Matt glanced at the clock on the wall. It was ten past ten, and it had already been a long and tiring day. 'I've got his mobile numbers,' said Matt. 'I'll try to track him down. In the meantime there's nothing we can do. Try to get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning.'

'He better be bloody sorry,' said Reid, his tone starting to calm down. 'How are you, anyway?'

Matt glanced across at the body stretched out in the hallway. 'I've had better days,' he replied slowly. 'I'll be pleased when we've collected our money and put this whole thing behind us.'

Sallum looked down at the man at the door and handed across a ten pound note. The man was maybe twenty-five years old, with cropped dark hair, a black T-shirt and a single metal stud hanging from his left ear. He smiled upwards as he folded the money into the till. 'You're new here, aren't you?'

Sallum nodded.

'Down the stairs,' said the man. 'The showers and changing rooms are on the right. You'll find gowns and towels down there. Just grab one.' He looked closer at Sallum's face, as if he were examining him for something. 'Have fun.'

The Penthouse Sauna was on Tariff Street on the outskirts of Manchester. Sallum had followed the target from the moment he'd left the lodge, and was still waiting for the right moment to strike. He hadn't wanted to take him out on the road — car chases are fine for Hollywood films, but a professional assassin knows they are too dangerous and too unpredictable. Only an idiot would attack a man in a car.

He'd followed at a discreet distance from the Peugeot. It was dark, and that always made it harder for a driver to spot when he was being followed. Sallum had waited for ten minutes after Damien had pulled into the roadside and disappeared into the building. From the posters on its façade, he could tell that it was a gay club: there were pictures of men embracing, and of men dressed in leather and tight jeans.

There is no level of depravity that the infidel will not sink to.

Sallum walked down the stairs. It was dark and humid within the club. The temperature was turned up to eighty degrees, and soft, purple-tinted halogen lights kept the rooms in semi-darkness. He turned right into the changing room, nodded to the man just emerging from the showers, and started to strip off. He tucked his clothes into the locker, and stepped into the shower, turning the water on to hot.

I need something to cleanse my body already.

Wrapping the red gown around his body, he slipped a four-inch double-bladed surgical knife from his clothes locker into the pocket, and started to walk through the building. The first room was a bar serving beer and soft drinks, in which a huge plasma screen was showing gay porn films. There could have been ten or a dozen men in there, it was hard for Sallum to tell in the near darkness.

He walked on. There was a steam sauna and a fifteen-foot Jacuzzi, but both were empty. He saw a pair of men disappearing upstairs, and followed them. There was a series of doors on the landing, and from inside the rooms Sallum could hear the sounds of men having sex. Towards the back of the landing there was a fire door. He snapped open the metal lock, shoved the door aside, and a blast of cold night air hit him in the face. He looked outside. A small, dark alleyway — illuminated only by the distant neon sign of a Kentucky Fried Chicken bar — led out on to the main street.

My escape route.

Downstairs, Sallum counted nine men in the bar. He asked for a Diet Coke, and took a seat on one of the couches fining the wall. He could see the victim just across the room, sitting back, a beer in his hand, watching the television. Sallum waited until the man caught his eye, then smiled in his direction. The man smiled back, then nodded. He stood up, walking towards the staircase, glancing backwards. Sallum stood up, following in his footsteps, watching as he started to climb the stairs.

Inside the pocket of his gown, he ran his finger along the edge of the blade.

The sound of a man dying is not so different to the sound of a man having sex. No one will suspect a thing.

It was dark in the corridor. 'Wait,' said Damien, his hand reaching out and ruffling through Sallum's hair. 'I just need to wash.'

Sallum paused. Two men brushed past him, then another man, by himself this time. 'Here,' said a voice from the third bedroom. Sallum walked in to the darkness. The man reached out a hand and pulled him inwards. He could feel his gown being unwrapped and a pair of hands running through the hairs on his chest. He took the blade from the pocket, holding it squarely in his right hand, and jabbed it forwards — stabbing it straight into the heart, and pulling the blade roughly upwards to make sure the main arteries in the heart were severed. The victim gasped twice, then fell forwards into Sallum's arms.

Sallum held his left hand tight over the man's mouth, stifling the scream that was about to erupt from his lips. With his right hand he twisted the blade, and he could feel the life ebbing away. He paused, counting to twenty, making sure his victim was dead, then laid him out on the bed. Using the knife he cut into the bone and flesh, sawing away at the man's right wrist until the hand was free from the body. He removed the locker key from the stump, and walked out into the corridor. In the next room, he could hear the sounds of three men having sex together, and was grateful for the covering noise.

Sallum walked to the back of the corridor, opened the fire door, and dropped the severed hand into the alleyway. Turning back into the sauna, Sallum walked back down to the changing rooms, which were mercifully still empty. There was still some blood on his hands, but it washed away easily. One of the best things about blood, Sallum reflected. It never stains. He used the key he had just ripped from the man's wrist to open the locker, and, reaching inside, he took the wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket. Then, opening his own locker, he retrieved his clothes and dressed.

He combed his hair, checked himself in the mirror, then walked back up to the entrance. The man at the desk nodded towards him, asked him if he'd had a good time, but Sallum just smiled and walked on without replying.

He walked a few yards, and turned the corner into the alleyway. The hand was where he had left it. He picked it up, held it underneath his coat, and headed back towards the car. He swung open the car door, deposited the hand on the passenger seat, and fired up the engine.

Another perfect kill. The honour of the Prophet is satisfied.

Matt dialled the number impatiently. He held the phone to his ear, listening to the ringing tone. Nothing. Damien wasn't answering.

He jabbed the off button, then pressed redial. The mobile took a few seconds to locate the number, then started to ring again. Matt waited, counting ten rings. 'Welcome to the T-Mobile answering service,' started up the mechanised voice on the line. 'The person you are calling is not available.'

'Damn him,' muttered Matt, putting the phone down.

'Where's he gone?' Ivan handed down a cup of coffee.

'I haven't a clue,' Matt snapped angrily.

'I don't like it,' said Ivan thoughtfully. 'Your team is coming apart at the seams.'

Matt looked up at the window, and stared into the darkness.

Damien, where the hell are you?

It was now four in the morning, and Sallum wanted his work to be completed by sunrise. Assassins are like owls, he reflected to himself. We are night creatures.

He looked down at the hand, nodding his head and whispering as if in prayer. 'In the book of Sunan Abu Dawud, it is written: a thief was brought to the Apostle of Allah — may peace be upon him — and his hand was cut off. Thereafter he commanded for it, and it was hung on his neck.'

Sallum smiled to himself, drawing quiet, professional satisfaction from the way the execution had gone. An assassin, he reflected, should always act within the commandments laid down by the Prophet. A hand has many uses. Even a dead one.

From his coat, he pulled out the wallet he had taken from the locker. Two credit cards, one bank card, and three different types of reward card. All in the name of Damien Walters.

It's close to dawn. I must act quickly.

He turned the ignition on the car and pulled out of the lay-by on to the open road, turning the heat up high to fight back the cold. He hated winters, and at moments like this longed to be back in Saudi. As a boy he had grown up in a small village in the Ar Rub' al Khali Desert, the vast, desolate space that dominates the centre of the country and stretches down to the coast of Oman. Translated, 'Khali' means the empty quarter — and that was the way he remembered it: he could travel for days with his father and not encounter a single living soul or even a blade of grass. It was completely pure.

Just as soon as my work is done I will be back there.

The lodge from which he had seen the target emerge this morning was five miles away. He drove slowly, careful not to draw any attention from the few cars on the road. As he saw the rough, low-built building on the horizon, he pulled in to the side of the road.

From the glove compartment he took a pad of paper and a pen, ripping free one page, 'THIS IS THE SECOND SEVERED LIMB, THREE MORE TO GO,' he marked out in neat, block letters, 'GIVE US OUR MONEY BACK, OR I WILL KILL ALL YOUR FAMILIES AS WELL.'

Sallum wrapped the paper into a neat square, then got out of the car, taking the severed hand with him. He prised open the fingers — for a man who had only been dead for an hour, the joints were surprisingly stiff. Sallum pulled hard, forcing the hand open. He placed the note inside it, plus one of the credit cards he had taken out of the wallet, then snapped the fingers shut, making sure they were holding on tight.

Stepping towards a stone wall, he selected a small rock, just bigger than his fist. Taking some gardening twine from the boot of the Lexus, he held the hand against the rock and wrapped the twine around them both until they were secured together.

He started walking towards the lodge. The ground was soft under his feet. Rain had fallen during the night, turning parts of the field into mud. Sallum walked slowly, making sure he kept to the contours of the ground, checking that nobody could see him. Looking up, he saw the lights were still out in the lodge. Everybody was asleep.

He judged the weight of the rock in his hand. Accurately, he could probably throw it fifty feet and be certain of hitting his target. He walked closer, edging forward until he judged he was about forty feet from the house. Standing upright, he swung the rock behind his head, putting the full force of his shoulder muscles into the shot. The rock spun away from his hand, and a second later he could hear glass splintering. The target had been hit.

Sallum turned and started running, his feet bouncing over the ground. By the time they heard the crash and looked out of the window, he guessed he should have made it to the car. The most they would see was a Lexus pulling away and disappearing down the road.

Now they will know what it is like to incur the wrath of the Prophet.

Matt had seen Reid in some tense situations. There was a time in Bosnia when they had been pinned down in a farmhouse, with a sniper hiding in the trees right next to the building: they'd had to survive without food for three days until the man showed himself and they could kill him. But Matt had never seen Reid as shaken as he saw him now: his voice was fractured, and there was fear in his eyes.

'Do you want to see it?' he said.

Matt nodded. No man wants to see the dead flesh of a close friend, but he knew he had no choice. 'I'd better.'

The assassin is getting to us. That's part of his plan.

Matt and Ivan had driven straight up to Derbyshire after getting the call from Reid early that morning. A hand tied to a rock had been slung through the window, he said. It had Damien's credit card attached to it, and a note telling them to give the money back. You didn't have to spend long figuring out where it might have come from. Or what had happened to Damien.

Does that mean it's not Ivan? Matt wondered to himself. I was with Ivan when Damien was killed. Maybe Reid killed both Cooksley and Damien. .

'It's outside,' said Reid. 'I didn't want Jane or the kids to see it.'

The lodge was a simple wooden structure. It had two bedrooms, a wood-burning stove that doubled up as a cooker, and a shower room. The two children, Jack and Emily, had already filled the main room with toys and drawings: Jack was busy doing a picture of his little sister while Jane busied herself packing. She nodded at Matt, smiling but remaining silent. She knows something is up, Matt thought. She can see it in our eyes.

A woman always knows when her husband is not telling the truth.

'Over here,' said Reid, stepping out of the lodge and crossing into the field.

It was a desolate spot, high on the side of a hill, with a vicious wind whipping in from the east. A flock of sheep was grazing in the next field, and the road was just visible at the bottom of the valley, but otherwise the lodge was completely isolated. Whoever had put the hand through the window would not have been seen, reflected Matt. They could be certain of that.

He's a professional. He's not about to help us out by making a stupid mistake.

Reid stepped over a granite wall, and pointed to a pair of large stones. The hand was resting on top. The skin had started to change colour, turning to a grey-blue. Blood had stopped dripping from where it had been severed from the arm, and the fingers had been forced open when Reid took out the note.

He was my best friend, Matt thought. And it's my fault this has happened to him.

'It looks a few hours old,' said Ivan, kneeling down and examining the hand. 'I reckon he killed him first, then cut the hand off.'

Matt's mind was still full of memories of Damien: images of them running the same streets together, bunking off school, kicking footballs across the park.

Ivan stood up, unfolding the note Reid had passed to him. He looked at Matt and Reid, his eyes narrowing. 'There were five of us, and now there are three.'

Matt turned away, looking down to the valley stretching out below. 'How the hell did this man know where Damien was?' he said.

All three of them fell silent.

I can ask the question, reflected Matt. But I can't supply the answers.

'I don't like to admit it, boys, but I'm scared,' said Reid, breaking the silence. 'This guy was just a few hundred feet from my children back there. He could have come in and taken us all out the way he took out Cooksley.' He paused. 'I signed up for this mission because I needed work, and I needed a fresh start in life. Maybe we should give them the money back like they ask. I tell you, I don't care about it any more. I just want out.'

'Don't be stupid,' said Ivan, a rough edge to his voice. 'They won't take any apologies. Give the money back or don't give the money back, they'll kill you just the same.'

'It says it right here,' Reid jabbed at the piece of paper. 'Give us our money back now. If that's what they want I reckon we should just give it to them.'

'To who, exactly?' Matt said. 'It doesn't say who or what, just give it back. Christ, we don't even have the money yet.'

'It doesn't matter,' said Reid, his voice growing more and more distraught. 'Just give it back, that's all.' He stepped angrily towards Matt. 'We're going to be next if we don't do something about it.'

'You're being stupid,' Ivan interrupted. 'I used to be a terrorist, as you are so keen on pointing out. I know how these people's minds work. They want the money, but they want you dead as well. He's just saying that to try and unsettle you. You're letting them get to you.'

'The only stupid thing I've done was get mixed up in a mission with you,' said Reid.

'I've had to take enough nonsense from you,' Ivan snapped. 'How do I know you didn't kill both Cooksley and Damien?'

Matt recognised the tone in the man's voice — it was the same cruel arrogance he had heard just before Whitson was killed. 'Break it up, boys,' he said, stepping between them. He looked to Ivan, then at Reid. 'We have to stick together, and fight them together,' he said. 'That's the only way. Otherwise they just pick us off one by one.'

Matt walked alone along the ridge of the hillside. He could feel the wind curling around his ears, but a few rays of sunshine were starting to struggle through the clouds. He had told the others he would check the back of the lodge and explore the hills behind to make sure no one was watching them from a distance. But, in truth, that had been an excuse. He needed to be alone for a few minutes.

He was wearing a grey overcoat, and black leather shoes — a man dressed for the town, not the country. He was still struggling to come to terms with Damien's death. In the Regiment you got used to your friends dying — it was part of the job, an occupational hazard. You knew the risks when you signed up, and nobody expected to life for ever. But this was different. This wasn't someone he'd worked with for a few years, this was the man he'd grown up with, whose life he had shared, whose sister he was planning to marry. If I'd had a brother, this is what it would have been like to lose him.

In the Regiment it was usually some Rupert's fault that a guy got killed. This time it's my fault.

'I'm sorry about your mate,' said Reid, walking up alongside him.

Matt had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed Reid at his side. They were about two hundred yards above the lodge, with a panoramic view of the whole valley. If anyone approached, they'd be able to see him.

'I'll miss him,' said Matt.

'It's Ivan, I tell you,' said Reid. 'How else could the assassin know we were here?'

Matt shrugged. 'I was with Ivan this morning down in Hammersmith. It couldn't have been him.'

'Not personally, no,' said Reid. 'But who says he hasn't got an accomplice? He finishes you and me off, then he and his mate collect all the money. Makes perfect sense to me.'

'He didn't know where you were going,' said Matt. 'Not unless he overheard you saying something to Damien. Or he had you followed.'

'We did our best,' said Reid. 'I kept my eye on the mirror through the journey. I tucked into a couple of lay-bys, took a couple of detours by some side-roads. That should have flushed out anyone on our tail. But like I said, I reckon it's Ivan. OK, you were with him — but he could have slipped away to make a call.'

Matt said nothing.

'I think that stuff about the IRA chasing him was just a stunt,' Reid continued. 'How do we even know he was in the IRA? No — he's got an accomplice, and they're working it together. As long as we have nothing to do with him, we're safe.'

'So what do you want to do then?'

Reid paused. 'Maybe we should finish him off now,' he said quietly. 'Out here on the hills, bury him somewhere. No one will ever find the body.'

Matt took a moment before answering. 'We're not murderers,' he said. 'And we've got no evidence.'

They stood in silence for a while. A light rain had started to fall. 'We can't stay here then,' said Reid. 'We've got to lose him.'

'There's a place in Spain. I'd have to clear it with the guy who owns it, but if he agrees it's perfect,' said Matt. 'The place is wired for maximum security — cameras, light sensors, tripwires, the works.'

'And what do we tell Ivan?'

'We don't want anything more to do with him, we tell him that. If he doesn't like it, we'll just kick the hell out of him. There's one of him, and two of us. What can he do?' Matt looked down at the lodge below them. 'And if it turns out he's responsible for Cooksley and Damien dying — then we kill him. He deserves it.'

Ivan's face was drawn, his eyes bloodshot and his shoulders sagging. Matt had known the man for only a few days, but Ivan had always seemed to be in control, always knew exactly what to say, everything mapped and planned. But not now. For the first time, control seemed to be slipping from his grasp.

'We're off,' Matt said, looking at him directly. 'I'm not saying we don't trust you, but right now Reid and I don't trust anyone. So we're disappearing for a few days, until the money is ready. We're not telling you where we're going, and we don't want you to start looking for us.'

Ivan was grinding his feet into the ground. 'Each time a man dies, the share to those left standing goes up,' he said. 'Now you kick me out, and that makes five million each for the two of you.'

Matt jumped forwards and grabbed Ivan by the shoulders. 'Don't say that,' he spat. 'Damien was my best friend, and now he's dead.'

A slow chuckle started to rise through Ivan's throat. 'You think it's me, don't you?'

'We're not saying that,' Reid said.

Ivan pulled up the collar of his coat. 'You're making a big mistake,' he said. 'Sure, information is swilling around somewhere, but it's not coming from me. I thought it might be coming from the Provos, but I don't think it's them any more.'

Matt leant into Ivan's face. 'So where's it from, then?'

Ivan shrugged. 'Dig your own graves if you want to, boys, it's no concern of mine,' he said. 'What's the proposal for cutting up the money? That's all that worries me right now.'

'You'll get your share,' Matt growled.

'I'm not letting that money out of my sight.'

'We'll collect it together,' Reid said, 'the way we always planned. We'll take our shares in Rotterdam — you know as well as we do when the cargo ship's coming in — then we'll go our separate ways.'

Ivan laughed. 'No. I'm sticking with you until I get my money.'

Matt jabbed a finger at his face. 'You heard what we said, you'll just have to accept it.'

Ivan waited for a few moments, then nodded. 'OK then — but if either of you double-cross me, I'll kill you,' he said. 'Then I'll kill your families as well. If it's the last thing I do.'

He turned to walk away. The rain was heavier now, and water was dripping down the side of his face. 'If you make it, that is,' he said, 'because it's not me.'

'So long as we're away from you, we'll be OK,' said Reid.

Ivan shook his head as he set off. 'A couple of bone-stupid British squaddies. You haven't figured it out yet, have you? And the rate your brains work, you never will!'

The coffee bar at Luton Airport was full. The eight-twenty Easyjet flight to Malaga was not yet ready, and looked like being delayed by up to half an hour. Reid had taken Jane and the children to have something to eat. Matt was sitting by himself. He didn't feel like anything more than a snack.

It's going to be a while before I feel like eating again.

'I was sorry to hear about Damien,' Alison sat down opposite him.

Matt glanced upwards but remained seated. She was wearing a white coat, wrapped tight around her waist, and knee-high leather boots. She put her bottle of mineral water down on the table. 'He seemed like a good man.'

'He was a good man,' replied Matt.

'What do you think happened to him?'

'Why don't you tell me?' Matt snapped. 'You're the intelligence officer.'

'I wish I knew,' said Alison, a sympathetic smile on her lips.

'Right,' sneered Matt. 'The whole of Five can't find out anything about a pair of murders.'

Alison's hand reached across the table. 'As I said, I wish we knew more,' she said. 'But tell me what you think.'

Matt shook his head. 'I'm not sure,' he answered. 'Reid believes it's Ivan.' He looked up at her fiercely. 'He's been nothing but trouble.'

'Did you ask him about the missing tape?'

Matt nodded. 'He denies taking it,' he replied. 'He denies everything.'

'Maybe there's something on it that incriminates him.' Alison unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and put it to her lips. 'You really think he might be behind the killings?'

Matt nodded. 'That way he collects all the money for himself. It has to be him.' He looked closer at her, scrutinising every inch of her face. 'Why did you want him along?'

'I told you,' Alison said sharply, 'you needed a safe blown, we needed to get him out of Ulster.'

'And now two of my best friends are dead.'

'I didn't plan it that way, Matt,' Alison slammed her bottle on the table. 'I'm sorry, but it's not my fault. You were all grown men and you knew what you were getting into.'

'If you want to play Softball, go to the park — right?'

Alison leant across the table. 'I know this hurts for you,' she said. 'Everyone in this business has lost people they care about. It hurts, always. But we fight on. MI5 is doing everything it can to track down the killer.'

'I thought you said Five didn't care what happened to us. That's why we couldn't have a safe house.'

'Five doesn't have feelings,' said Alison, leaning back in her chair. 'It's not that sort of organisation. We want to catch al-Qaeda though.'

'What do you have, then?' Matt snapped. 'If you get any leads, you have to share them with me. It's my life on the line here.'

'OK,' she said. 'I should level with you about something.' Alison glanced around the cafe as if she was worried someone might hear her. 'It's about Ivan. He told you his family were being held by the IRA. That was a he. We checked it out. They are currently living in a rented villa in Chile. On the coast just up from Santiago.'

'The bastard.' Matt slammed his fist on the table. 'I knew it was him.'

Alison looked at him carefully. 'It might be, it might not be,' she said. 'Don't jump to conclusions.'

'Why would he he?'

'Tell me where you are going to be, and we'll do what we can to protect you.'

'Puerto Banus,' said Matt. 'Kazanov's place. It's about the most heavily fortified building on the Spanish coast, so if we aren't safe there, we aren't safe anywhere. We hole up there until we collect the money in Rotterdam in three days. Then, I don't know. New faces, new identities, the works. We disappear, and put all this behind us.'

Alison reached out and brushed a finger along Matt's hand. He kept still, not responding.

'You see, Matt, if we work together, we can get through this.'