Riley stared at him, defying her nerves. ‘Toby,’ she told him as calmly as she could, ‘this isn’t going to end how you think. Why don’t you cut your losses and vanish? It’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?’
There was a two-beat pause. Henzigger blinked as if he might be seriously considering the idea, then shook his head once. There was a rancid smell about him, of stale sweat and cooked food, and Riley decided that personal hygiene probably took a back seat when someone was facing the ruination of all their plans. Especially when operating at the deep, murky end of the pool.
She slipped her jacket back on and walked up the broad stairway past the row of Myburghe ancestors, their eyes following in grim disapproval. Once on the landing, Henzigger grunted and motioned her to the right. The air smelled musty up here, as if the house needed a good airing, and she guessed Myburghe hadn’t bothered getting a cleaner in for a while. Henzigger kept his distance all the way, allowing her no opportunity to get too close.
He grunted again and indicated a room on the left, which Riley thought overlooked the rear of the house. It was plush and warm and the size of a small football pitch, and contained, among other things, a huge double bed. Somebody was lying on it.
Sir Kenneth Myburghe.
He was positioned with his body tilted sideways, and Riley thought he was dead until he opened his eyes and glared at Henzigger. Then she saw his hands were tied tightly behind him by a length of curtain rope. The former ambassador was dressed in shoes, pale trousers and a crumpled blue shirt. There was a vivid red mark on the side of his face, rapidly turning into a bruise. At least, she thought, he’s still alive.
‘What’s this,’ she said. ‘Did thieves fall out?’
‘Something like that,’ said Henzigger genially, settling himself against a large, ornate dresser, from where he could command the room. He lifted one foot and rested it on a steel briefcase, of the sort favoured by trendy city types. It looked heavy. ‘His Excellency, here, has just decided he doesn’t want to play with us blue collar types anymore. That’s a shame, because he’s been instrumental in clearing a route for us to ship in our product.’ He looked at Riley with a slight grin. ‘But I guess you know all about that, right? Portius is a real piece of work, isn’t he? I still have friends in the agency… they keep me up to speed about who’s doing what. Maybe I should get someone to visit with old Henry and do a number on his arms and legs. That’d stop him interfering. I do hate people who mess with my plans.’ He turned his head and looked at Myburghe, then raised the gun and sighted down the barrel. His finger tightened on the trigger.
Riley tensed, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop him. The distance between them was far too great, and with all his experience, Henzigger would kill Myburghe and calmly take her out as well before she got halfway across the room.
On the bed, Sir Kenneth stared dumbly at the gun, anticipating the bullet. The fact that he kept his eyes open was the nearest thing to courage Riley had seen him display, and she felt a grudging respect for him.
Henzigger grinned and made a loud ‘pow’ noise, then lowered the gun.
Myburghe flinched. His body seemed to deflate like a collapsing air mattress, and his face burned red with shame. It was soon obvious why, as a dark patch began to spread across the front of his pants.
‘For Christ’s sake, Henzigger!’ Riley protested, and felt contempt for Myburghe’s tormentor. Right then, all she wanted was for Palmer or Mitcheson to come through the door and shoot him.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Henzigger, and looked at Myburghe with an expression of disgust. ‘Wonder what your Queen Elizabeth would say about that? Anyway, what was I was saying? Oh, yes… Lord Pisspants, here, wants to renege on our deal, which, by the way, Riley, is paying for this pile of shit to be kept standing a few more years. Did you know that? So much for the honour and integrity of the diplomatic corps, huh? Thing is, the end part of the deal also included a plane out of here, nice and private. Just me and my friends. Only it’s all gone wrong and there ain’t no plane. Still, I got some of the money.’ He tapped the briefcase with his foot. ‘Unfortunately, I have no way of getting out. Which means I still need his help. Or yours.’
He turned and pointed the gun at her and smiled.
‘You must be joking,’ Riley muttered.
Henzigger shed the smile in an instant, his eyes going dark. ‘Joking? Actually, no. Let me show you.’
Without hesitation, he turned and shot Myburghe.
*************
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The blast was deafening in the room, the shock waves making Riley’s ears ring. On the bed, Myburghe took the full force of the bullet and was flung over onto his front, a fine spray of blood fanning out across the bedspread, bright and vivid against the pale fabric. He groaned once and lay still.
Riley was stunned but took care not to move. Henzigger was watching her like a hawk, the gun now aimed at her. His hand was as steady as a rock.
‘That was a demonstration. I only winged him. You refuse me again, he gets another one. And believe me, I can keep this up for hours without killing him. I’ve done it before. Want to see?’
‘No!’ She felt nauseous with anger. She couldn’t see where Myburghe had been hit, but even a slight wound could kill him with the shock.
‘Perfect.’ Henzigger relaxed and blew down the gun barrel in a sick parody of an old-style gunfighter. Suddenly he was all geniality again. ‘Now we have a working understanding. Ironic, really, because those Colombians have been itching to do that for weeks. They may be peasants and have shit for brains, but they know how to read a man, you know? Low animal cunning, I guess. They figured he was going to be a liability long before I did. In fact, I was the only thing stood between them and him getting a taste of the blade.’
‘I’ll make sure he recommends you for a medal,’ she said with unrestrained sarcasm.
It rolled off his back like water. ‘First things first: I need to get out of the country. Seems my former employers — the DEA — never quite bought the story about my innocence, and they’ve slammed most of the doors on me. I bet they’ve got photos up at every port, too. But I figure a kick-ass reporter and a former British Ambassador might know where all the gaps are — am I right?’
Riley stared at him. He was actually expecting her to get him out on a boat or plane? He must be mad. She had no more idea of a back door out of the country than he did. At best she could take a stab at guessing, like stealing a boat and hoping to get across the channel without being run down by a super-tanker. But that wasn’t what he meant.
He wanted a plane, preferably something with a lot of range to put himself quickly beyond the reach of Weller and Portius. That meant a corrupt pilot or a busy commercial flight, neither of which could be rustled up in the middle of the night on a whim.
But if she suggested that, Myburghe would get another bullet.
She had to stall for time. Time for Mitcheson or Palmer — and where the hell was Palmer? — to come and narrow the odds. And time for Weller’s men in black to come abseiling through the windows.
‘I need to think about it,’ she said, hoping it sounded convincing. ‘There are a couple of places, but I’d have to check.’
‘Okay. That’s cool.’ He surprised her by agreeing readily, then added the killer line: ‘Say, twenty minutes. That do you?’ His smile was a cold, empty facial gesture, like a death mask in a museum, and she realised that sometime in the past few hours, maybe even days, Toby Henzigger had strayed over the borderline from paranoia into the cloudy realms of madness. ‘Ten seconds longer and he dies.’
He picked up the steel briefcase and walked out, leaving Riley staring after him. At least he hadn’t tied her up. Then she realised why as the key turned in the lock.