'You'll have to trust me,' Damien said.
'We'll decide who to trust, thanks,' snapped Cooksley.
'I'm glad we finally agree on something,' Ivan chipped in.
'OK, OK,' said Matt, raising his hands into the air. 'Like Damien says, we'll all go get the money together. The point I was trying to make was this — if anything goes wrong after the hit and we get split up, we all meet up in ten days' time. The money will be buried at a spot in Kent, and I'm going to give each one of you the GPS co-ordinates. Like I said, it's just a back-up plan. But if we need to, we'll split up the money then. March the thirty-first at 11.00 a.m. Be there.'
'And what exactly are you planning to go wrong?' said Ivan.
Matt rolled over on his side, spent and exhausted. Alison's legs were still wrapped around him, her hair still draped across his neck, and her fingernails still digging into his back. He could feel her sweat on his skin, and the sweet smell of her perfume lingered on the rumpled sheets of the hotel room.
'Next time I see you, you'll be a rich man,' she said.
'You like your men rich?'
Alison shrugged. 'It doesn't matter. I don't expect men to look after me.'
'Do you always sleep with the men you send out on missions?'
Alison smiled coyly. 'Only the ones who please me.'
'And after the mission?'
She shrugged again, pulling the sheet back over her silky breasts.
'We're expendable, right?' said Matt.
'You want me to describe you as collateral damage?'
Matt pulled on his jeans and started doing up the buttons on his shirt. 'It makes no difference what you call me.'
He stepped out alone into the darkness of the street. Bideford at one in the morning in March was an empty place. The few pubs and restaurants were closed, and most of the lights in the houses were out. A quarter of a moon was hanging in the night sky, its light shimmering in the long inlet that stretched through the centre of the town. Ahead, Matt could hear the sound of the waves breaking on the shoreline.
As he walked, he thought of Gill. He had called Janey, the manager at the Last Trumpet, earlier in the day. He knew he'd defied Alison's instructions that none of the gang should contact their family or friends until the mission was over. But he wanted to know where Gill was, what she was doing, and how she was taking the separation.
I still think about her all the time. Even when I'm with Alison.
Especially then.
Janey hadn't seen Gill, but she'd run into one of the other girls from the Dandelion nursery, who'd commented that Gill had seemed down, and asked where Matt had gone. 'I don't think she's told anyone you've split,' Janey added. 'That's probably a good sign. Like she doesn't want it to be permanent.'
Matt pulled his collar around his neck to protect himself from the chill wind blowing in from the sea.
If I sort myself out, will Gill take me back?
'You cheating, miserable bastard,' shouted a voice from the darkness. 'You sick, sodding slag.' The punch felled Matt. A fist collided with his jaw, the bone crunching into his flesh with the force of a hammer. If he'd seen it coming he might have been able to steady himself, recover his balance and return the blow. But it came straight out of the darkness. His foot slipped and he could feel himself falling to the pavement. He jabbed out an arm to break his fall and caught his elbow on the kerb, sending a jolt of pain through his arm. 'What the fuck,' he muttered.
A boot crashed into the side of his chest, blasting the air from his lungs. Matt coughed violently, gasping for breath. His hand swung around, reaching for the leg to pull the man down, but he missed. The boot swung back, then forwards, this time hitting him on the side of the neck. The flesh started to swell instantly. Matt reached out, his reactions quicker this time, and his hand clamped on the boot. He yanked at it, hard. The man swayed, his balance thrown, and another yank brought him crashing to the pavement. Matt pulled back a fist high into the air, preparing to deliver a powerful blow directly to the man's teeth.
The least you deserve is an expensive trip to the dentist, you bastard.
'Damien,' he said, looking down into the face of his assailant. He stopped himself just in time. 'Christ, man, what the hell are you doing?'
'What the hell are you doing,' Damien spat, his face purple with rage and sweat. 'You're screwing her, aren't you?'
Matt rubbed his jaw with his hand. It was bruised, but there was no blood. 'Yes,' he said quietly.
'You're meant to be getting married in a few weeks,' said Damien. 'How could you do that to Gill?'
'We split.'
'Split? From Gill? You didn't tell me.'
Matt pulled himself up from the pavement. 'I broke it off,' he said. 'I'm in too much trouble to marry anyone, let alone Gill. I do love her, but I can't have her around me right now. She could get killed as well.' He helped Damien back on to his feet. 'I need this mission to get my life back together. When I do, I'll go back and marry her — if she'll still have me.' He paused, looking down at the water. 'I'm more certain of that now than I have ever been.'
NINE
Mongari was a few miles from Limassol, but it might as well have been on a different planet. Matt checked his watch as he walked with Ivan down the quiet street. It was just after ten at night, and whereas the holiday resort would be noisy with drunken clubbers staggering their way through the streets, here there was just the sound of the few fish restaurants that lined the bay being shut up, and the screeching of a couple of cats being put out for the night.
The two of them had come alone. The flight from London had landed mid-afternoon, and they'd transferred straight to the hotel. The rest, it was agreed, would stay behind in the bar while Matt and Ivan went to check the boat and the gear were all lined up.
We could get the call at any minute. We have to be ready twenty-four hours a day.
The houses in the village were all painted white. Half a moon was hanging in the sky, gently illuminating the curve of the dock and the fishing boats moored along the wooden jetty. The moon was rising, Matt noted. That meant that on the night of the raid it would be relatively light, unless there was cloud cover. That would make it easier for them to see the target. But it would also make it easier for the target to see them.
Given the choice, I'd rather take them by surprise.
Glafacos Hasikos was prowling along the edge of the jetty, his face illuminated by the orange stub of a cigarette glowing in the corner of his mouth. Matt walked up to him. 'Do you know the way back to Limassol?' he said.
'It's too far to walk, you'll have to go by bike,' Hasikos replied, chucking his cigarette into the water behind him.
That was the phrase arranged as a password. This was their man.
'Is this the vessel?' said Matt briskly.
The ship behind him was a tug boat, about eighty feet long, with a black metal hull and a pair of white cranes on its deck. At a quick glance it looked at least ten years old, but it was still in good shape. This was just what Matt wanted. He didn't need a new, untested boat, and he didn't want an old cranky one either. This raid would be dangerous enough without the equipment cracking up on them.
'I'll take you aboard,' said Hasikos.
Matt followed him on to the ship. Hasikos was a small, overweight man, with fingernails stained from nicotine and two days of stubble on his chin. The boat was moored to the jetty, but still swaying from the swell washing in from the open sea. 'Show us the electronics, and then where the gear is stashed,' said Matt.
The bridge was towards the front of the boat. Matt was not an expert sailor, but he felt comfortable about handling this. The ship was equipped with radars, giving position and depth of water. And there was a GPS locator. No nonsense about using the stars to guide you. If you could drive a car, you could drive this.