Headhunters

Chapter Twenty-Three

It took Milton a moment to realise where he was. He looked up and saw a ceiling that was close enough to touch with his arm only halfway extended. He closed his eyes again and heard the wheeze and rumble of wheels passing across track and then heard the blare of a horn.

He remembered. The train.

He turned onto his stomach and reached down for the curtain that he had pulled across the window. He twitched it aside, just a little, and looked out to a burning hot afternoon. He looked at his watch. It was half past twelve. He had been asleep for five hours. They were passing through a red and orange landscape, rocks and boulders strewn by the side of the track and, beyond them, the gentle ascent of uplands that were dotted with the occasional clump of desert pea or blaze cassia. He saw one tree, a myall, atop a hill that looked down over the wilderness like a sentinel.

That’s right. They were on the train, headed west.

And then he remembered.

Bachman.

He winced from the aches in his hips as he swung his legs off the side of the bed and descended the ladder. Matilda was asleep in the bottom bunk. She had taken off her shirt and the dark nutty brown of her shoulders was vivid against the thin white sheets.

Milton hopped down to the floor as quietly as he could and went into the tiny bathroom. It was designed with some ingenuity so that it could fit into the compact space. The toilet bowl folded down for use and there was also a fold-down sink. There was a vanity with power points, a small cupboard and, overhead, a showerhead. Milton took off his new clothes and stood under the shower for five minutes. He found a sachet of soap and used it to scrub the dirt and dried blood off his skin. The water that ran into the drain was a mucky brown, and it took a minute to run clear. He scrubbed at his scalp, feeling the grit of the sand. There was a disposable razor in the cupboard and he used it to shave away his bristles.

By the time he was done, he almost felt human again.

The towels were in the compartment. He opened the door a little and peered out. Matilda was awake and staring right at him.

“Towel, please?”

She smiled at him, the first that he had seen from her for what seemed like an awfully long time. “Come and get it,” she said.

“Matty, come on.”

She grinned, relented, and tossed one of the towels across the room.

He snagged it, wrapped it around his waist and came back into the compartment. He dressed while Matty used the shower, and then he called through the door that he was going to go and find coffee.

He found a café at the end of the third carriage along. There were four tables between seats upholstered in blue and yellow material. He gazed out the window while he was waiting and watched as a kangaroo kept pace with the train for fifty yards before losing interest and coming to a stop.

He spent the rest of his money on coffee and Danish pastries and asked the server how long it would be until they were in Adelaide. The woman said that they arrived at three. Not long. Milton thanked her and returned to their compartment. Matilda was sitting on the lower bunk.

Milton gave her the coffee and pastry.

“So?” she said.

Milton knew what she meant. He sat down next to her. “His name is Bachman. Sometimes he goes by Boon. I knew him a long time ago.”

“Who is he?”

Milton sighed. There was no way he was going to be able to change the subject this time. She had just been abducted, hauled across the outback and threatened with death. She deserved to know everything.

“He used to work for the Mossad. You know what that is?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“The Israeli Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations. Their Secret Service. Israel’s not exactly in a friendly neighbourhood, and they’ve always fought dirty. Very dirty. The Mossad is one of the most dangerous organisations in the world. I’ve been around them, once or twice, and they scare the shit out of me. They have a lot of blood on their hands.”

“So why are they involved with you?”

He shrugged. “Bachman hasn’t worked for them for a long time. He was supposed to have died in Cairo, years ago. That’s what they said, and it’s what I thought, too, until I saw him again in Louisiana.”

“That’s where you were — before here?”

“I was helping a friend. She runs a charity replacing houses that were wrecked by Katrina. She got into trouble with a corporation who wanted to build on the charity’s land. She wouldn’t do what they wanted, so they hired a man to get rid of her. That was Bachman.”

“I still don’t understand. Get rid—”

“Bachman is a hit man. He kidnapped her brother. I found him and got him out. There was a firefight. Bachman’s wife was killed. He thinks it was me, and now he wants me dead.”

“But it wasn’t you?”

“No,” Milton said. “He shot her. There was a ricochet. I’ve tried to tell him, but it’s the last thing he wants to hear. He’s angry and someone has to pay. He thinks it has to be me.”

“And he’s dangerous?”

“Very.” The most dangerous man I ever met, he thought. A psychopath, a killer who kills because he likes it. It would be difficult to pick a worse man with whom to have a feud.

She paused and bit her lip. “The Mossad. You said they had a lot of blood on their hands?”

Milton knew that they were coming to a crossroads. He knew where the conversation was going, and, knowing that it was about to become difficult for him, he answered quietly, “Yes.”

“And him?”

“Yes.”

“Like you?”

There was a saying in Alcoholics Anonymous: they said that you were only as sick as your secrets. Milton determined that he would have no secrets with her. She didn’t deserve dishonesty. He would tell her the truth and whatever happened, happened.

He took a breath. “Yes,” he said. “Like me.”

“What he said was true?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand…”

“After the SAS, after I met your brother, I was recruited to join an organisation in London. We called it the Firm. The part of that I worked for was called Group Fifteen. Some people in the Firm called us headhunters. I suppose you could say Group Fifteen was similar to the Mossad in that regard.”

“You killed people?”

“Yes,” he said.

“How many people?”

Milton looked out of the window.

“How many, John?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“How many?”

“A lot.”

He could remember them all.

She stood, a look of disgust and terror on her face.

“Please, Matty. Sit down. Let me explain.”

She backed away.

Outside their compartment, a conductor opened the door to the car. They heard him call out that he was going to need to inspect tickets, and then heard him knock on the door of the compartment next to theirs.

“Please, Matty,” Milton said. “Sit down.”

“No!”

She flung the door wide. The conductor was standing there. She hurried out.

“You all right, miss?”

“What’s the next stop?”

“Adelaide in five minutes.”

“Thank you.” She took out her ticket and showed it to him.

The conductor took the ticket, stamped it and handed it back. “Is everything okay?” he asked, looking into the compartment at Milton.

“Thank you,” Matty said again, hurrying away down the corridor.

The man stepped into the compartment, bracing himself against the doorway to anchor himself against the swing of the train.

“I don’t want any nonsense on my train.”

“It’s fine,” Milton said, handing the man his ticket.

The conductor looked at it dubiously, as if there had to be something wrong with it. Unable to find a fault, he stamped it and gave it back.

Milton stood and the conductor put out his arm and rested his hand on Milton’s shoulder.

“Like I was saying, no trouble.”

Milton clenched his fists, but took a breath to stay his temper. “There won’t be any. Now, please — get out of my way.”

The conductor held his hand there for a moment before he looked up into Milton’s eyes. The authority of his position melted away; he stared into Milton’s cold, implacable gaze, and decided that if there was going to be any trouble, he didn’t want any part of it. He stepped back out into the corridor. Milton thanked him and walked quickly to the next carriage.

Matilda was ahead of him. He made his way as quickly as he could. He caught up to her just as she opened the door to the carriage with the café.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“Then just listen.”

“Does Harry know? About what you did?”

“Not as much as you do.”

She turned, ready to walk away again. Milton reached out and took her shoulder.

“Let go of me!”

“I can understand why you’re angry with me.”

“It’s not just anger, John. I’m scared.”

“You don’t need to worry about Bachman.”

“I’m not just scared of Bachman. I’m scared of you.”

He stopped. “You don’t have anything to be frightened of from me, Matty.”

“You’re a killer, John.”

“No,” he said. “Not any more. Not for a long time. That’s why I came here. I’ve been running from my past ever since I got out. I’ve been trying to do the right thing. Help people, rather than hurting them.”

“Helping people?”

“Putting things right. That’s why I was in New Orleans.”

“You call this helping? Because of you, I’ve been abducted. Because of you, they threatened to kill me. And now, because of you, I’m on a train running away from my brother. If this is your idea of help, I can manage on my own.”

The train started to slow. They were approaching Adelaide. Milton knew he had only a few minutes to persuade her.

“Hear me out,” he said.

“I don’t want to hear any more.”

“Just give me until we get to Perth. If you still feel the same way, fine. Go your own way.”

He knew that abandoning his protection would be a terrible option for her, but he couldn’t say that now. That battle could wait until later. He had to win this one, first.

“I’m not going to Perth, John.”

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll get off here.”

“I’m getting off. I don’t care what you do, but you’re not coming with me.”

Adelaide station came into view as the train rounded a corner and drew alongside the platform.

“Please, Matty.”

The train slowed to a halt and the door opened, a blast of heat washing inside. A male passenger stepped down onto the platform. There was a woman waiting with a young girl, and, as Matilda made for the exit, the child ran down the platform and threw herself into the man’s embrace.

“Goodbye, John.”

“It’s not safe.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

She started for the open door. Milton thought about trying to stop her, but he didn’t. It would cause a scene, and the last thing he needed was that. She climbed down the three steps to the platform. Milton couldn’t just leave her here. She had no money. And she was far from safe. He climbed down and followed her.