Greed

The coffee bar at Luton Airport was full. The eight-twenty Easyjet flight to Malaga was not yet ready, and looked like being delayed by up to half an hour. Reid had taken Jane and the children to have something to eat. Matt was sitting by himself. He didn't feel like anything more than a snack.

It's going to be a while before I feel like eating again.

'I was sorry to hear about Damien,' Alison sat down opposite him.

Matt glanced upwards but remained seated. She was wearing a white coat, wrapped tight around her waist, and knee-high leather boots. She put her bottle of mineral water down on the table. 'He seemed like a good man.'

'He was a good man,' replied Matt.

'What do you think happened to him?'

'Why don't you tell me?' Matt snapped. 'You're the intelligence officer.'

'I wish I knew,' said Alison, a sympathetic smile on her lips.

'Right,' sneered Matt. 'The whole of Five can't find out anything about a pair of murders.'

Alison's hand reached across the table. 'As I said, I wish we knew more,' she said. 'But tell me what you think.'

Matt shook his head. 'I'm not sure,' he answered. 'Reid believes it's Ivan.' He looked up at her fiercely. 'He's been nothing but trouble.'

'Did you ask him about the missing tape?'

Matt nodded. 'He denies taking it,' he replied. 'He denies everything.'

'Maybe there's something on it that incriminates him.' Alison unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and put it to her lips. 'You really think he might be behind the killings?'

Matt nodded. 'That way he collects all the money for himself. It has to be him.' He looked closer at her, scrutinising every inch of her face. 'Why did you want him along?'

'I told you,' Alison said sharply, 'you needed a safe blown, we needed to get him out of Ulster.'

'And now two of my best friends are dead.'

'I didn't plan it that way, Matt,' Alison slammed her bottle on the table. 'I'm sorry, but it's not my fault. You were all grown men and you knew what you were getting into.'

'If you want to play Softball, go to the park — right?'

Alison leant across the table. 'I know this hurts for you,' she said. 'Everyone in this business has lost people they care about. It hurts, always. But we fight on. MI5 is doing everything it can to track down the killer.'

'I thought you said Five didn't care what happened to us. That's why we couldn't have a safe house.'

'Five doesn't have feelings,' said Alison, leaning back in her chair. 'It's not that sort of organisation. We want to catch al-Qaeda though.'

'What do you have, then?' Matt snapped. 'If you get any leads, you have to share them with me. It's my life on the line here.'

'OK,' she said. 'I should level with you about something.' Alison glanced around the cafe as if she was worried someone might hear her. 'It's about Ivan. He told you his family were being held by the IRA. That was a he. We checked it out. They are currently living in a rented villa in Chile. On the coast just up from Santiago.'

'The bastard.' Matt slammed his fist on the table. 'I knew it was him.'

Alison looked at him carefully. 'It might be, it might not be,' she said. 'Don't jump to conclusions.'

'Why would he he?'

'Tell me where you are going to be, and we'll do what we can to protect you.'

'Puerto Banus,' said Matt. 'Kazanov's place. It's about the most heavily fortified building on the Spanish coast, so if we aren't safe there, we aren't safe anywhere. We hole up there until we collect the money in Rotterdam in three days. Then, I don't know. New faces, new identities, the works. We disappear, and put all this behind us.'

Alison reached out and brushed a finger along Matt's hand. He kept still, not responding.

'You see, Matt, if we work together, we can get through this.'

SIXTEEN

The house sat high above the sea, perched above a tiny, sandy cove. The noise of the waves echoed up from the rocks, and spray flew about their jagged edges. A side road from the main highway twisted down to the building, and two huge black iron gates guarded the entrance to the main drive. A series of twenty tiny digital cameras were studded into the gateposts, relaying images back to the security room. An assailant could take out one or two cameras, but not twenty without being spotted.

You can't see the security, Matt noticed. Like a spider's web, you only notice once you are inside the trap. That's what makes it so effective.

The white Mercedes limousine drew to a halt outside the main doors, and Matt clambered out. It was two in the morning, and both Reid's children were asleep on the back seat. The flight from London had taken two-and-a-half hours, touching down at Malaga airport at just after midnight local time. Both the children had been excited to fly on a plane, and had spent most of the journey demanding to play with Matt. By the time they'd collected their bags and found the car Kazanov had sent for them, another hour had passed. Now Matt was exhausted. It seemed like three days since he had slept, and he needed to get his head down.

Sleep isn't easy when you know you might die in the next few days.

'You're a lucky boy, Matt Browning,' said Harry Pointer, walking towards the door, 'getting to stay in a place like this after all the trouble you've caused. Mr Kazanov is a nice man. A much nicer man than he should be.'

After the hard bargain Kazanov had driven, Matt reckoned he didn't have any grounds for complaining. The Russian had said he wanted his money back by the end of the month, and had added an extra fifty per cent on to the interest he was charging. Matt hadn't bothered to argue. Either way it made little difference. If he was alive at the end of the month, it was worth spending the extra money; if he was dead, Kazanov wasn't going to get paid anyway.

'He's getting his half-million back, plus a tidy wedge of interest,' Matt said sharply. 'He's a businessman. He knows that sometimes you have to protect an asset. Right now that's me.'

Pointer rang the bell, and they waited while a guard walked to the door. The man looked at them through a spyhole, then started unlocking the heavy bolts.

Matt heaved the bags on to his shoulders and stepped inside. Reid carried Emily, Jane was holding Jack in her arms. Matt had only been here once before, for a party Kazanov had held one New Year's Eve, back when he still counted as part of the nouveau riche set on the Marbella coastline. A plane load of Natashas and Ivanas seemed to have been flown in for the event: if Matt had ever before seen so many stunning girls gathered in one place, it could only have been in a dream. What they were like to talk to, he'd never discovered. Gill had hung on to his arm all evening, and the only people he'd got to speak to all night were some local property developers and some oil prospectors from the Caspian Sea.

'Nice place,' Jane whispered, stepping across the black and white marble floor of the hallway. 'It's a big improvement on that lodge in Derbyshire.'

Reid hadn't told her what was happening. For all Jane knew, they were simply staying there a few days while Matt and Reid sorted out some business, and Damien had gone to collect some money. Better to keep it that way. If Jane had any idea what had been happening, chances where she'd lose it completely.

'I'll show you to your rooms,' said Pointer.

Reid and Jane started walking up the stairs, the two sleeping children still in their arms. Matt took their bags in his arms and followed. His limbs were aching with tiredness, and he needed to get some rest.

About ten hours' sleep, some breakfast and a five-mile jog. Then I can start thinking straight again.

'A drink!' boomed a voice from the bottom of the stairs. 'I can't let you go to bed without at least one vodka.'

Matt turned round to see Kazanov standing in the hallway, waving him down. Even at two in the morning he was still wearing a suit and tie. He was a man who took his grooming seriously. He was never seen looking anything less than immaculate. Say what you like about the KGB, Matt reflected, but it certainly taught its operatives how to present themselves.