Red Station

SEVENTY-TWO

Bellingham’s mouth dropped open. He recovered quickly, but Harry knew he’d finally hit home.

‘We buried him face down in a ditch. It seemed a fitting end.’

Bellingham stepped back. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know anyone called Latham. What do you want from me?’ A slight tic had started up under his left eye.

‘You. We want you. And Paulton. Although somehow I doubt we’ll get to him. He seems to have done a runner. But you’ll do for starters.’

‘We?’ The cigar was forgotten now. Bellingham was beginning to look trapped. He looked beyond Harry, sweeping the area with a practised eye.

‘Enough of us to bury you.’ Harry felt the response was over-dramatic, but it seemed appropriate. Bellingham and Paulton had buried him and the others in Red Station; it seemed right to think of retribution in the same terms.

‘Don’t flatter yourselves — any of you.’ Bellingham tossed the cigar into the river and thrust his hand in his pocket. ‘Who the hell would believe you?’

For a second, Harry thought he might be going for a weapon, and got ready to draw the gun in his pocket. It would probably be the last thing he ever did, but he was damned if this man was going to take him down. Then he realized Bellingham would be carrying a panic button. Press once in case of threats from foreign agents or pissed-off security officers. Bellingham wasn’t the gun type; he employed others to do his shooting for him.

He reckoned on having just a few minutes before the summons brought a response. ‘I’ve spoken to Marcella Rudmann,’ Harry said. ‘I think she’ll be looking to have a chat sometime. She’s particularly interested in Clarion.’

‘Don’t be pathetic.’ Bellingham’s voice dripped contempt, his mouth contorted, but he looked haunted at the mention of his server link. ‘You think you can come back here and take me on? You’re deluded, all of you, like that pathetic drunk, Mace. I suppose he’s hiding somewhere, afraid to come out and face the world without a stiff drink inside him?’

‘He’s alive, if that’s what you mean.’ The lie came easily. ‘And ready to talk.’

‘Then he’ll be arrested,’ Bellingham replied. ‘As will you. Your friends too. Is Jardine one of them?’

Another name, another point of reference. It confirmed that Bellingham knew who was in Red Station. By itself it might not be enough, but it added background colour for any subsequent enquiry.

‘Yes, she’s out there,’ he said. ‘I’d watch your back, if I were you. You made her some promises then let her down. She’s unlikely to forgive you for that.’

Bellingham’s eye gave a twitch, and he struggled to hold his gaze on Harry’s face. He said acidly, ‘We’ll see. You’ll all serve time in the darkest hole I can find. Believe me, you have no idea what being buried really means!’

A touch of spittle from Bellingham’s mouth landed on Harry’s cheek. He gripped the gun harder and wondered what it would be like to take it out and deliver his own brand of justice on behalf of those Bellingham had consigned to oblivion. The man didn’t have the slightest sense of remorse or fear, even when faced by someone who could bring him down.

Bellingham turned and walked away, his coat tails flapping around him, his head swivelling as he looked for his bodyguard.

But the tall man had disappeared.