- Chapter 32 -
A Special Relationship
The newspaper seller spotted Lonaghan as he emerged from the underground. The American’s polish marked him out from the crowd. His posture was straighter. His skin was smoother. And then there was the hat. He grabbed a Daily Telegraph from the pile and handed over a few coins. He flicked through the first few pages as he meandered over the road. He remembered now why he hated this shitty little island so much. Forget the condescending attitude. It was the inability to understand that they no longer mattered that made them more insufferable. It was like having to placate a child that wanted to join in an adult conversation. The voice was loud, but everything they said was ignored. Lonaghan made his way through security and walked out into Alpha’s new domain. An overweight woman got up from her desk and greeted him in that annoying way some British people greet you, like they are apologizing at the same time.
“Mr Lonaghan, hello, I’m Sandra, welcome to our new home.”
“Hey, it’s great to be here.” He beamed widely at her. “I think I’m a bit early. Is John around?”
“Let me take you over.” Lonaghan took in Alpha’s new hive as he walked through the desks. Share prices and currencies flashed across large television screens mounted to the walls alongside government hearings from around the world.
“Pleasant trip?” said Alpha, walking out of his office to greet them.
“Right up until the point that I arrived at Heathrow,” said Lonaghan, following him in and shutting the door.
“There’s no need to be like that.”
“This country’s a toilet, I resent you for making me come here.”
“Making you? I didn’t make you do anything.”
“My guy in Kazakhstan tells me Varndon has done a little disappearing act. Are you trying to fuck me John?”
Alpha sat down. “No one is trying to fuck anyone. If Varndon has disappeared, he has his reasons for doing so. As soon as he gets in contact, you’ll be the first person I call. Take a seat.”
“I’d prefer to stand,” said Lonaghan, picking up a pin badge from Alpha’s desk with a Stars and Stripes crossed with a Union Jack. “We’ve always had a good relationship John, but I can see what’s going on here.”
“And what’s going on?”
Lonaghan looked over his shoulder out at the office. “This new department must have cost some real dough.”
“And?”
“Your superiors may be looking for a return on their investment.”
“That’s not the way things work around here.”
“What, you’re commies now? Seems to me a big kill like Vitsin would look good for you right now.”
“I think you’re getting a bit paranoid.”
“Paranoia is part of our trade. I like to nurture mine. Keep it in shape.”
“Well, this time, I think you’ve let it run away from you a little.”
“Maybe so,” said Lonaghan. “Maybe I’m too paranoid. But then again, maybe I’m not.” He spun the pin badge round in his fingers and put it back on the desk. “The Russians have disappeared too. I suppose you don’t know anything about that either?”
“Nikolaev and his crew are murderous gangsters. That’s not the type of company I keep.”
“If you say so.”
Alpha’s face darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means.”
“Enlighten me. Please.”
Lonaghan took his hat off and walked up to Alpha’s desk, looking down into the old man’s eyes. “Just remember that the bodies that are littering the path on your climb to the summit of this organisation may come back to haunt you if you forget who your friends are.”
“I didn’t think threats were your style Tom.”
“They’re not.”
- Chapter 33 -
Seva
Harper waited for Nikolaev to disappear before emerging from behind the banner. An eclectic mix of religious statues and oriental ornaments packed the shop. He looked around and his eyes settled on the far wall, where a selection of Japanese weapons adorned the shelves. Harper picked up a miniature Tanto sword and pulled the weapon from its sheath. He ran his finger along the blade and felt it cut into his skin.
“How much?” he said to the shop owner, who looked up from reading a magazine.
Harper gave him some cash and slipped the blade into his inside jacket pocket. The smell of apple tobacco filled the air. He walked over and looked into the front of the cafe, but the place was deserted. He opened the door and locked it behind him, pulling down the small blind. A white and grey canary twittered behind the counter, hopping along its metal bar. The cage stood in front of a small archway on the back wall, which was covered by a thick curtain. There were no others exits or entrances. Harper stepped lightly as he walked over towards it. He listened first and then pulled the curtain back just enough to see through. There were more tables and chairs, but the room was a lot smaller. He pulled the curtain back a little more and saw the back of one of the Russians, standing at the top of a flight of stairs.
He put his hand into his inside pocket and pulled out the blade.
Japanese symbols stretched along the length of the metal. A small drop of Harper’s blood had dribbled down and stained the silver. He looked through the curtain again. The Russian stood with his hands behind his back, looking to the bottom of the stairs. Harper clamped the knife firmly in his hand. He opened the curtain a bit more, pushing the blade through first. The Russian was only a couple of metres away from him, back straight and feet shoulder-width apart in a military style. As Harper moved forward, the canary launched itself at the side of its cage. The Russian spun around at the sound of feathers banging against the wire and reached for his gun. Harper lunged at him, grabbing the front of his shirt and driving the knife up through the bottom of his jaw and into his skull. The Russian’s body tensed and his eyelids flickered as Harper held him up, waiting for the life to drip out of him. He squeezed Harper’s shoulders and collapsed forward. Harper dragged the body to the side and crouched down in the corner. He heard footsteps and a second Russian came flying out of the stairwell with his gun drawn. Harper ran at him and lodged the knife in between two of the vertebrae in his lower back. The man’s legs went limp and he squealed in pain. The sound evaporated as the knife ran across his throat. Harper took the pistol from the agent’s hand and knelt down, pointing the gun at the top of the stairs.