Maybe it's you.
It was in the tone of her voice. He could tell she was not going to forgive him. The words stuck in the back of her throat, as if she was reluctant to let them emerge from her lips. 'Say it isn't true,' she muttered into the phone.
'I can't,' answered Matt. 'Nobody wishes that more than me — but it is true.'
There had been no choice but to tell her, and no simple way of breaking the news. Every instinct within him had told him that he should take the risk, get out of the house and go tell her in person. To tell the woman you loved over the phone that her brother was dead was monstrous. News as grave as that deserved to be delivered eyeball to eyeball. But it was too risky. Get Gill to come to the house, and she could easily be followed. All of them would be slaughtered. For him to go outside would be too dangerous as well. If Gill was being watched — and he had to assume that she was — that would be the opportunity for the assassin to move in and make his strike. The first rule of hiding was don't reveal your position to anyone, ever. No matter how desperate the situation.
He had used a rented mobile phone he'd picked up at the airport, since he wanted to make sure nobody could trace the call. He'd just make the one call, then destroy it. It was Saturday, and he knew he would find her at home. There was no point in small talk. One lesson he had learnt from officers in the Regiment was that, when you had to deliver bad news, it was best done quick and straight. There was nothing to be gained by trying to soften the blow. Damien was dead, he told her, his tone flat, drained of emotion.
'I'm so sorry,' Matt continued. 'If I could have done anything to prevent it, I would have done.'
'What happened to him?' said Gill, her voice cold and distant.
Matt had dealt with bereavement before. He had been to see the wives and sisters and parents of men in the Regiment who had died in action alongside him. He knew that when you lost someone precious you always wanted to know the precise circumstances of the death. Some people were angry, some disbelieving, some suspicious.
I'll tell her the truth. That's the least she deserves.
'He was on a mission for the government, with me and some other guys,' said Matt softly. 'It was MI5 sponsored, but off the books. We hit an al-Qaeda boat for a lot of money and we get to keep it. Damien joined because he wanted the money, and we needed someone to fence the stuff.' He hesitated. 'It's gone wrong. I think one of the gang is betraying us one by one. First a guy called Cooksley's got killed, then Damien. Reid or I could be next.'
'His body,' said Gill. 'What's happened to his body?' She sniffed, wiping a tear away from her eyes. 'I'll have to organise a funeral.'
'I don't know,' said Matt. He hesitated before continuing: there was only so much truth you should subject a woman to, even one you loved. 'I think the police will recover it soon.'
Gill paused. Even though he couldn't see her, Matt could imagine that the tears were starting to flow. 'I'm going to hang up now,' she said. 'It's over, Matt. I don't want to see you again.'
Matt could hear something different in her voice now. Not the rage and anger he was used to with Gill, but the quiet determination of a woman who has made her decision, and plans to stick with it.
She's leaving me.
'Stop,' he said. 'We can… I need you Gill.'
Gill choked, her voice full of anger. 'It's too late, you idiot,' she said, spitting the words out of her mouth. 'I've had enough of your soldier games. It was bad enough when you ran around the world trying to get yourself killed. Now it's my brother as well.' She hesitated, fighting back the sobs. 'You couldn't even come and see me. You had to tell me on the phone. I'm through with it. I don't want to be around when you get yourself killed on some stupid job. I don't want to be the widow weeping at some stupid graveside. That's not a life, and I'm not going to take it any more.'
'This is the last one, trust me,' Matt said, his voice starting to crack. 'This was about making enough money to get out of the game for ever. So we could be with each other. It was about us.'
'About us?' said Gill, her voice rising. 'It's never about us, it's always about you. There's always another job, another mission, another war. You don't get it, do you? I don't need you to be a hero or a millionaire, or any of the rest of it.' She took a deep breath. 'All I wanted was for you to be an ordinary guy who cared about me.'
The line went dead. Matt stood in the room, staring out across the sea, the phone still hanging in his hand. He put it down, and put his face in his hands. He had wanted to speak, but the words were choked in his throat. Gill had been angry with him before — they had shouted at each other hundreds of times. But this time felt different. She had just said goodbye.
Joe Reiss looked like a typical Five agent, decided Matt, as he opened the door. He was just under six feet tall, well built, with a rugby player's upper torso. About thirty, with thick black hair, and wearing chinos and a tweed jacket, he had minor public school written all over him.
Nothing like Alison. Nothing like as smart.
'Headquarters suggested I swing by,' Reiss said breezily at the door, 'to help with the security.'
Matt showed him around. Reiss said he was stationed in Malaga — he had been posted in Madrid, but MI5 already had a man on the southern Spanish coast, and Reiss had been sent down to join him. The area was swarming with drug dealers, gun runners, gangsters and terrorists. 'So they figured it was worth having their own man on the spot, getting plugged into the local network, seeing what he could pick up,' Reiss added. 'That's me.'
I can't imagine a twit like you getting plugged into anything but the toaster.
The tour took fifteen minutes — around the perimeter defences, into the control room, and down into the armoury. Matt could tell that Reiss was surprised by the extent and sophistication of the weapons and surveillance systems on display. Whatever piece of ground he'd been keeping his ear to, Matt decided, it obviously hadn't told him that Kazanov was a man with this sort of money and munitions at his disposal. 'So, you see, we're pretty well defended,' said Matt.
'Five wanted to put in a couple of extra tweaks,' said Reiss, 'if that's OK.'
'A couple of battalions of Gurkhas would be good,' replied Matt.
Reiss grinned. 'I was thinking more of a video link,' he said. 'We can just fix up the electronics so that all the video surveillance gets beamed straight back to headquarters. Anything starts happening, we can send some guys to help you out.'
'The cavalry?'
'That's the thing,' Reiss nodded enthusiastically.
'You'll be able to help clear up the bodies, then,' said Matt. 'Always good to have somebody to wash away the blood.'
Reiss looked hurt. 'We're just trying to help, Mr Browning. It's rare for MI5 to do this for anyone.'
'It's rare that Five does anything for anyone,' said Matt. He turned to walk away. 'Fix up your wires. We'll use all the help we can get.'
Reid was sitting upstairs, drinking a beer on the balcony. A sniper could get you from there easily thought Matt. You don't look nearly as frightened of dying as you should be. Matt walked slowly towards him, listening intently as he crossed the stone floor. Over the past couple of days he had grown used to watching every shadow, every nerve in his body switched to full alert, ready for an assault. He had also learnt the first lesson any target learns: when an attack comes, you may not see it, you may not feel it, but you will always hear it. It's like fighting in the jungle, Matt thought, where the thick trees and leaves stop you from seeing more than a few feet in any direction. A tiger's ears are its greatest weapon — they are ours too.