Yokely was still wearing his coat, though he had unbuttoned it. ‘Sorry about the smell, Viktor,’ he said, ‘but pigs will be pigs.’
There was a grunt to Merkulov’s right and he flinched. In a pen, half a dozen adult pigs were shoving their noses into a metal trough. There were ten pens in the barn, separated by metal bars with peeling paint. The air stank of urine and faeces.
‘Pigs are actually very clean animals, left to their own devices,’ said the American. ‘It’s only because we humans lock them into cells that they live in their own filth. They’re actually closer to us than monkeys. Genetically, there’s little difference.’ He walked over to the pens and looked down at the feeding animals. ‘I’ve never really understood why Muslims hate them so much. Pig kidneys have been implanted in humans, and pig hearts have been used to support failing human ones.’ He looked over his shoulder at Merkulov. ‘So, who is your client, Viktor? Who has been paying for information about me?’
‘His name is Hassan Salih.’ Merkulov knew there was no point in lying to him. They had taken his shoes and clothes, and two long machetes, a pair of industrial bolt-cutters and a carving knife had been placed on a wooden table near the entrance to the barn. His life was in the American’s hands and if he wasn’t completely honest with him the two men with hard eyes would kill Merkulov and feed him to the pigs.
‘And who is this Hassan Salih?’ asked Yokely.
‘An assassin.’
‘From?’
‘Palestine.’
Yokely folded his arms. ‘And he paid you for information about me?’
The Russian nodded.
‘Did he want information about anyone else?’ asked Yokely.
‘Just you,’ said the Russian.
‘That is the last lie you will ever tell me, Viktor. Do you understand? Pigs will eat anything. I’m sure you know that.’
‘I understand,’ said the Russian.
‘Would it help you if I got them to remove a finger? Or a toe? Or an ear? To show how serious I am? Would that help convince you,Viktor?’Yokely gestured at the two men and they went to the table, their boots crunching on the concrete floor.
‘A woman called Charlotte Button,’ said Merkulov, hurriedly. ‘She used to work for MI5 and now she works for the Serious Organised Crime Agency.’
‘And what were you able to tell him?’
‘Not much,’ said Merkulov. ‘No address, no family details. But he had a mobile phone number and I was able to check that out for him. He wanted to know where she was.’
‘And where is she?’
‘Belfast, London and Glasgow, mostly.’
‘He’s using her phone to track her?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘He wanted me to check a number she’s been calling while she was in Belfast. He wanted a list of calls made to and received by that phone.’
‘Did you find out whose it was?’
‘Someone called Daniel Shepherd. The bill goes to a house in Hereford.’
Yokely’s jaw tightened and Merkulov realised he had said something significant. He began to speak faster, knowing that the information he had was the only thing keeping him alive. ‘The phone is in Belfast most of the time. There are calls to Button’s, to the landline at the address in Hereford and other mobile numbers. I haven’t given the information to Salih yet. I could hold off if you wanted me to. I could tell him I’ve got to go back to Russia.’
‘The number in Hereford? You’ve checked it out?’ Yokely’s brow was furrowed and he pursed his lips.
‘Not yet. I’m still working on it. But it’s a landline so I’ll be able to find out who lives there.’
The American held up a hand to silence him. ‘Did you track my phone?’ he asked eventually.
Merkulov shook his head. ‘No.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Yokely. ‘Now, here’s the million-dollar question, Viktor. Who is paying this Salih?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Merkulov. ‘I really do not know. But money is no object to whoever it is. Everything I ask for, Salih pays.’
‘And you have worked for him before?’
‘I have supplied him with information, yes.’
‘And we can assume that he intends to assassinate me and Charlotte Button?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s not a name I’ve heard before.’
‘He keeps a low profile.’
‘Even so, I know most of the men who kill for money. The serious players, anyway.’
‘Hassan Salih is a serious player,’ said Merkulov, ‘but he uses many names. I’m not even sure that Salih is his real name.’
Yokely picked up a chair and placed it in front of the Russian, then sat down facing him so that their knees were just inches apart. ‘But you don’t know who wants me dead?’
Merkulov smiled thinly. ‘From what I’ve heard, a lot of people would like you dead.’
Yokely chuckled and patted the Russian’s knee. ‘You’re right, of course. But most of those who would wish me harm don’t have the resources to hire a man like this Salih.’ The American folded his arms. ‘How does this end, Viktor? How do we play it?’
The Russian glanced anxiously at the two men behind Yokely. One was holding a machete now and the other was tapping a pair of bolt-cutters against his leg.
‘This Salih, there’s no way he can kill me, Viktor,’ said Yokely. ‘I know that for a fact. Do you know why I know that for a fact?’
Merkulov shook his head.
‘Because I’m going to die a very old man. Every fortune-teller I’ve ever been to has told me so. Everyone who has read my palm has said I have a lifeline that goes on for ever.’ Yokely splayed the fingers of his right hand and held it out to the Russian. ‘Do you read palms?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Merkulov.
Yokely stared at it. ‘Long, long lifeline,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘No accidents, no illness, just my three score and ten plus a healthy bonus. Probably die in my sleep.’ He grinned at the Russian. ‘So, hand on heart, I can tell you I’m absolutely one hundred per cent certain that this Salih will do me no harm.’
‘You are a lucky man, Mr Yokely.’
‘Yes,’ said Yokely. ‘I am. And what about you, Viktor? Are you lucky?’
‘Until today I thought I was. But apparently I was overoptimistic.’
‘It’s good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humour,’ said Yokely, clapping. He folded his arms again and stared at the Russian for a full minute. At first Merkulov held his eyes, but eventually dropped his own to the muddy concrete.
‘I’m in two minds as to what I should do, Viktor,’ said Yokely, eventually. ‘Part of me wants to watch these guys cut you up and feed you to the pigs. But part of me thinks that you could be useful to me.’
‘It is a dilemma,’ agreed the Russian.
‘I would like to know who’s paying Salih,’ said Yokely, ‘and wants me dead. Seems to me that you might be able to find out.’
‘I could do that for you, yes.’
‘But can I trust you? That’s the question.’
‘I could give you my word.’
Yokely chuckled. ‘I’m not sure that your word would be enough,’ he said. ‘And I’m not the type to issue threats. They always seem such a waste of time. Like bluffing in poker. Do you play poker, Viktor?’
‘No.’
‘I used to, but I wasn’t that great a player because I refused to bluff,’ said Yokely. ‘I figured, what’s the point? You either have the best hand or you don’t. If you don’t have a good hand you might as well fold at the start. Thing is, you can’t play like that for long because once your opponents realise that you never bluff, they fold whenever you want to bet. So you can’t win. Now, life, that’s different. If people know you never bluff, they have to take you seriously. They have to believe you will do what you say you will. And a threat is a sort of bluff, isn’t it? If I threaten you and don’t follow through, then it weakens me. You can see that, can’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Merkulov.
‘You know what I can do to you, don’t you, Viktor? And that I can get to you anywhere in the world? Even in Russia? There’s quite a few guys in Moscow owe me favours. And I can get Mr Putin on the phone if I really want to. So there’s no hiding-place, not really.’