Headhunters

Chapter Fifty-One

Milton put the old man in a comfortable chair and waited until he came around. The kitchen was plush. The wooden floor was polished to a high sheen, and the units were white and impeccably clean. There was a big American-style refrigerator, a large range and pendant lights that were suspended from the ceiling on long cords. Everything was freshly painted and in perfect order.

Ziggy’s hack had expired and now the lights had come back on again. The villas across the bay were alight again, too, the glimmers shining out across the water. Milton had changed out of his wetsuit and into his normal clothes, and then, once he had satisfied himself that the old man was still breathing, he had started to make his preparations. He had made sure that the alarm was functional, and that the motion detectors in the gardens were activated. He made his way around the room, checking the ways in and out. He tested the windows; they were secured with locks. He had entered through the large French doors. There was the door to the larder and a second door at the other end of the room. Milton opened it and glanced inside. It led to a flight of stairs that descended to the floor beneath this one. He would investigate it properly later. For now, he closed the door and, taking a wooden chair, propped the seat back beneath the handle to secure it.

There would be more to do, but that could wait.

The old man had started to stir.

Milton pulled up a second chair and positioned it directly opposite Shavit. He had the old man’s shotgun laid across his lap.

Shavit’s eyes flickered open, closed, and then opened again. He looked around calmly. He had experience; it was written in the lines on his face. Milton doubted that this was the first time he had faced down a man with a gun. If it was, the prospect did not appear to daunt him.

He reached up with his fingers and probed his chin. “Did you have to hit me quite so hard?”

“I’m sorry about that. Do you know who I am?”

“Of course I do, Mr. Milton.”

“And you know I’m serious?”

“I’m too old and jaded to be frightened by threats. I know why you’re here.”

“I’m not threatening you. I just want to be sure that we understand each other. I’d rather not be here, but your friend hasn’t given me an option.”

“You’re going to bring him here?”

“Yes.”

“You’re crazy.”

“You’re not the first person to say that.”

“He’ll kill you.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Shavit paused, but, seeing the iron in Milton’s eyes, decided that there was little point in antagonising him.

Milton took out a cell phone and dialled a number.

Avi Bachman and the Rabins landed in Melbourne. Keren Rabin had piloted the Cessna from Adelaide and they had made the short hop in two hours. They left the plane and made their way through the small airport building. Keren called a taxi while Bachman paced impatiently.

He had split the team into two units. Two agents had stayed behind at Broken Hill to keep Harry Douglas under surveillance. Malakhi had tried to persuade him that he should stay, too, and await further information on Milton’s whereabouts, but he had dismissed the suggestion out of hand. He needed to be moving. He needed to be doing something. He had been furious that the advantage of recapturing Matilda Douglas had been squandered so easily, and he wanted to lead the search himself. Milton would be travelling with the girl. He wouldn’t be able to disappear quite as easily as if he was on his own. He would make a mistake, and Bachman wanted to be there to make the most of it.

So they had followed Milton’s steps. They had travelled to Adelaide first of all, chartering the Cessna and flying from Broken Hill. They had travelled to the house of the sayan who had captured Matilda. Hughes was distraught at the death of his partner. Bachman didn’t care about that. He had failed. The thought had crossed his mind that he should just put a bullet into the man’s head and put him out of his misery, but he had decided against it. He needed the agency behind him, if only until Milton was located again. There was no profit in killing the man, although he deserved it. It would just have been pandering to his anger. Better that he maintain his composure. He would be able to gratify his emotions later.

Malakhi had received an emailed report as they were driving away. Milton and the girl had been seen in Melbourne. Several law enforcement files had been intercepted and sent to them. The local police department were looking for a man who looked very much like Milton after a branch of a local bank had been robbed at gunpoint. A large amount of money had been stolen. The police had located the car the robbers had used to make their escape. There were several sets of fingerprints inside, but none of them had been identified. The police were making enquiries, but it was obvious from the reports that they had reached a dead end.

Bachman didn’t need the prints to be matched to know who was responsible. He had scrolled through the information that Rabin had been sent, pausing on a still that had been taken from the bank’s CCTV.

A man facing the counter, a pistol held in his right hand.

It was Milton.

It wasn’t difficult to know why Milton had done what he had done. Standard tactics. He had no money. Neither he nor the girl had cash, credit cards, or means of identification. Milton would not have wanted to stay in Australia, and he would have needed money to leave. This was the easiest way to acquire funds.

The question now was where had he gone? They had sayanim stationed at all of the obvious airports that served international destinations. It would not have been possible to leave the country that way without detection, and none of the agents had reported seeing anything. They had agents at the ports, too, and none of them had seen Milton or Matilda, either.

They had just stepped outside to find a car when Malakhi Rabin’s cell phone sounded. He answered and handed the phone across to Bachman.

“It’s him.”

Bachman took the phone. He composed himself, staring out at the wide open green spaces of the airfield, and then put it to his ear.

“Milton,” he said.

“We need to bring this to a close.” His voice sounded distant.

“Then stop running.”

“I have stopped.”

“Where are you? I’ll come right away.”

“Croatia.”

Bachman stopped, his mouth open and a sickening churn in his stomach.

“There’s someone who wants to speak to you.”

Bachman held his breath. There was a pause, with just the noise of static on the line, and then a second voice.

“Avi, I’m sorry.”

“Meir?”

“I’m fine. He just got the jump on me.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. My pride is hurt, that’s all.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Don’t worry about me. Don’t—”

Shavit was cut off mid-sentence. Bachman gritted his teeth as he heard the old man’s muffled protest before Milton spoke again.

“Avi?”

“How did you find him?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“No, you’re right. It doesn’t. You’re wasting your time. Do you think I care about him? You know how it is. No attachments. I don’t care. You’re getting sentimental. Do what you want to him — it won’t make any difference.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care what you think.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Neither is your friend.”

“He’s not my friend.”

“Come on, Avi.”

“You think I’m crazy?”

“Who else have you got left, Avi? Lila is dead. You want me to kill him, too?”

Bachman tightened his grip on the phone. Malakhi Rabin was watching him anxiously. Bachman hated it. He felt his temper flicker.

“You’ve got three days to get here. I’ll wait for you. If you don’t come, I’ll kill him and then I’ll disappear.”

“What about the girl? Is she going to disappear too?”

“Shut up, Avi. I’m sick of your threats. This is the last chance you get.”

The call went dead.

Bachman took a moment to compose himself, but he couldn’t. He flung the phone at the side of the terminal building, shattering it into pieces. He wheeled on Rabin, his fists clenched, and the agent raised his arms and took a step back. Bachman paused, turned away, closed his eyes, and waited until the threat of an eruption had passed. He turned back. Rabin was still there, a few feet away, cautious of coming too close.

“Are you ready to move?”

“Yes,” he said. “Who? All of us?”

“You and your wife. The others stay. Someone needs to stay on the brother in case he’s bluffing.”

“Bluffing? Where are we going?”

“Croatia.”

Milton put the phone on the counter and opened the door to the larder. There was a narrow aperture at the top of the wall filled with glass bricks that, when it was light, would admit a little brightness.

“Stand up, please.”

“You think Avi will stop because of me?”

“I know he won’t. I don’t want him to.” Milton indicated the open door to the larder.

Shavit stood, a wince of pain flickering across his face.

“What is the point of this, then?”

“I want him to come to me.”

Milton took the chair he had been sitting on and moved it into the larder for the old man. Then he shut the door. There was a key in the lock and he turned it, sealing Shavit inside. He checked the rest of the kitchen, ensuring that there were no ways in or out that he had missed and, then, finally, he poured himself a glass of water, went out to the balcony and sat down. He looked out at the dark mass of the cliffs, the jagged edges just visible in the dim light that bled up from the grounds of the villa, and then out into the deeper darkness that clung to the surface of the sea. The waves crashed against the rocks, in and out, and Milton allowed himself to close his eyes and relax. He knew that Bachman would be on his way. He didn’t know where he was, but he knew where he would soon be.

He had laid a trap, with himself as bait. This would be the last day he would be able to leave the house until the matter was settled, one way or another. He opened his eyes, took out his cigarettes and his lighter and put a cigarette to his lips. He lit the tip and inhaled, blowing the smoke into the night. Somewhere overhead, he heard the sound of a helicopter and then, with a suddenness that almost startled him, he saw its alternating lights as it clattered out from behind the headland and flew, low and fast, in the direction of Dubrovnik.

He finished the cigarette, flicked the butt over the edge of the balcony, and went inside. He closed and locked the balcony doors and started to go about his work.