Headhunters

Chapter Forty-Nine

Milton shifted a little, rearranging himself so that he was a little more comfortable. He was lying on a shallow plateau that jutted out of the steep cliff side that dropped down to the clashing water of the Adriatic below him. He was prone, flat against the stony floor of the plateau, shielded from the scorching sun by the lip of rock that extended above him. He was holding a pair of binoculars that he had purchased at the airport. The sun was overhead, so he wasn’t concerned about the prospect of light sparking against the lenses and giving him away. He was hidden.

The villa spread out below him was impressive. The building itself was huge — Milton estimated four thousand square metres — and the grounds led down through a series of terraces to the crystal-clear waters. Trees reached up above bone-white walls that had been bleached by the salt and the sun, and flights of steps offered access to and egress from the terraces to the house and, beyond, the ornamental gardens that had been planted in a cleft in the cliff face. Milton had no idea how much a property like this must cost. Millions, certainly.

Dubrovnik was only a few miles to the north. This was a chic destination now, but it hadn’t always been that way. Ziggy had pulled the records of the transaction that had passed the property’s title from the previous owner to Meir Shavit. He had been shrewd. The purchase had been made at the height of the war, when the villa was valued at a fraction of the amount it would have made if it were put onto the open market today. Milton had never been one for property, but even he had to admit that the old soldier had been wise in his choice of investment.

He saw movement and jerked the binoculars around, focusing on the figure that had just emerged from a door at ground level. It was a man, old, but in good shape despite his advanced years. He walked with a confident stride, his back ramrod straight and, if a little slow, he moved with purpose. He was wearing a white robe and slippers.

The man followed a flight of steps down to the middle terrace, and then another that delivered him at the foot of the cliff. Milton twisted the focus. A natural indentation in the rock face had produced a large plunge pool. It was protected from the vicissitudes of the tide by a lip of rock that extended out into the water, a natural breakwater that meant that the water was as smooth as a millpond in comparison with the churn beyond it. A wooden pier had been constructed, stretching out for ten feet into the middle of the pool, and there was a rowing boat tied up at the end.

Milton watched as the man reached the lower level. He took off the robe, revealing a pair of swimming shorts, and then removed his feet from the slippers. He walked to the end of the pier. There was a ladder next to the rowing boat and he climbed down it, dropping the last few feet into the water. He turned over onto his stomach and stroked out into the middle of the pool.

It was Shavit.

Milton watched him as he swam to and from the rocks that formed the breakwater. It looked deep, the light blue of the shallower waters directly below him changing to a much darker hue where Shavit was swimming.

Milton wondered whether now was the time to make his move. He could negotiate the cliff face in fifteen minutes, approach the pool and take Shavit as soon as he emerged from the water. He thought about it, but discounted it. He had no idea how many other people were in the villa. A place as large and opulent as that would certainly have staff, and perhaps Shavit had other guests. Ziggy had promised to hack the security system, and that, together with extended reconnaissance, would give Milton a much better idea of how many people were inside. There was no sense in moving too quickly and making a mistake. It would complicate things horribly to have the local police involved. The property was private and secluded, with high walls and security that would ensure that he and Bachman would be undisturbed when they confronted one another again. Milton did not want to spoil that by acting precipitously.

He took out the cell phone he had purchased in the city and called Ziggy.

“Well?”

“It’ll be easy,” Ziggy said. “It routes through a local home security firm. I just need to get into their server and I’ll be able to see everything they can see.”

“How long?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Get to it.”

“Are you doing it now?”

“Not yet. Tonight.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Just keeping an eye on him.”

They had dinner together that night. Matilda found a restaurant down by the harbour in the Old Town and the three of them sat on the patio and dined on fish and stuffed calamari. The atmosphere was tense. Milton knew there was a difficult conversation to have, and the anticipation of it was heavy in the air. He had brought the waterproof kit bag that he had purchased earlier that afternoon. It was on the floor next to him, a visible reminder of what he was intending to do.

Milton was the last to finish his main course and he waited for the waiter to clear the table before he began.

“You need to get out of the city,” he said to them both when the man had disappeared into the kitchen. “Tonight.”

“What are you going to do?” Matilda asked.

“I’m going to bring this whole mess to an end.”

“The old man?”

“Tonight. I’ll go and see him.”

“See him?”

“He’s the way to Bachman. He’s the reason Bachman’s going to come here. And he’s the reason he’s going to be off balance.”

“And then? When he comes?”

He paused. “And then there won’t be a problem any more.” He didn’t want to speak euphemistically, but he had no desire to describe what they all knew was going to be required if the problem was to be resolved.

“What’s in the bag?”

“The things I need.”

The waiter returned with the dessert menus. Milton asked for the check.

Matilda was fingering the stem of her wine glass. “How long will it take for Bachman to get here?”

“Depends where he is. If he’s still in Australia, it’ll take him a day.”

“So we’ll stay with you until tonight.”

“No, Matty. It’s too dangerous.”

“You’ll need help. You can’t do it all on your own.”

“I can,” he said, thinking that he had done much worse.

She started to protest.

“What if it isn’t a day?” Milton said “What if they’ve told him where I am? He could be on his way now. He might be here already.” Matilda started to protest again, but Milton stalled her with a raised hand. “No arguments. I don’t want you to be involved. Either of you. You should never have been involved in the first place. You need to go.”

She started to retort, but bit her lip. Instead, she got up, folded her napkin on the table and went into the restaurant.

“Ziggy,” Milton said, “you have to make sure she leaves.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You need to do better than that. After I’m gone, you take her to the airport and get onto a plane with her. Promise me.”

He looked down and exhaled. “All right. Okay. And then?”

“Get her back to Australia. This will be over one way or another.”

“What if Bachman…”

Ziggy didn’t finish, but Milton understood what he meant. “It won’t come to that.”

“I know, John, but what if it does? What if he’s still out there and you’re not? What happens then?”

“You’re planning to disappear, right?”

He shrugged. “That was the plan.”

“Make sure you do.”

“But what about her? She’s not going to want to do that, is she? She’s going to go back to Australia and her brother.”

Milton took a moment to answer. He had considered the consequences of failure. Would Bachman revenge himself on them, too, even if Milton was dead? He didn’t know. The man was a psychopath. He was unpredictable. There was a chance he would consider the ledger still open. There was no profit in thinking about the possibility. There were no other ways to bring an end to what had happened.

That was the thing: he couldn’t allow himself to fail.

He stood.

“Are you going?”

“It’s easier.” He reached down for the kit bag and rested it on his chair. “What we talked about earlier — that’s ready to go?”

“You just need to send the email. It’s all set up.”

Milton collected the bag. “Thanks. You’ve been great. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without your help.”

Milton knew that Ziggy looked up to him, and he knew that his praise would mean something to him. He hoped it would cement the last piece of cooperation he needed from him. He needed him to get Matilda out of harm’s way.

Ziggy smiled at Milton’s gratitude. “You sure you don’t need me to stick around?”

“I need you to make sure Matilda gets home. Tell her I’m sorry, about everything that happened. Will you do that, please?”

“Of course.”

Milton slung the bag over his shoulder and put out his hand. Ziggy took it.

“Be careful,” Milton said.

“And you.”

Milton turned and made his way between the tables to the cobbled street that led down to the waterfront. He didn’t turn back.