A module? They were being used as live targets for training newcomers? Christ, Harry thought bitterly, they’d be handing out MBA certificates in spying next.
‘Bit late in the day to be doing this stuff, isn’t it?’
Stanbridge shrugged with one shoulder. ‘It’s a job. I was leaving the army, they offered and I accepted.’ He looked as if he was about to say something else, then stopped.
Harry leaned forward. ‘What?’
‘What did you do to the others?’
‘Why are you bothered?’ Harry knew the answer to that one.
‘They’re my mates.’
‘I persuaded them to move on, that’s all. Last thing I saw, they were driving like their pants were on fire.’
Stanbridge shifted his position and winced with cramp. ‘You were right… about me in Kosovo, I mean. I was there for a couple of months, then rotated out.’ He coughed. ‘Could I have some water?’
Harry fetched a plastic mug and filled it from the tap. He held it to Stanbridge’s lips at arm’s length. If he tried anything, he’d get clipped. But the man drank greedily, gulping down the water.
When he was finished, he continued. ‘There was another bloke in Kosovo at the same time, called Latham. He was part of a deep-cover team, Special Ops, spending weeks in the hills.’
‘Doing what?’ Harry thought he could guess.
‘Hunting for war criminals. I knew him from years back. He was always looking to get transferred, hoping to pass selection for Special Forces. I never heard if he’d made it, but if he was in Kosovo doing that job, I guess he must have. He’s not a bloke to cross, though. Bloody headcase.’
‘What’s this got to do with us?’
‘Why I came here… to your flat; I told the lads I knew you, but I wanted to check you out, get some ID. I figured I might get some brownie points if I got background info that nobody else had.’ He hesitated.
‘Go on.’
‘Soon as I clocked you first time, I was sure I knew you — and I was right.’
‘How?’
‘I was in the same convoy as you when we came to that Serb roadblock with the three kids. You were the one who jumped on that Serb APC and took out the gunner… rescued those kids.’
Harry nodded slowly.
‘The lads didn’t believe me. Said you wouldn’t have pulled it off unless you were SAS or something, and why would you be out here now. I told them you’d got a round of applause from the guys in the convoy and free drinks all evening, so what did it matter?’
‘I remember.’ He’d got blind drunk with relief and the aftershock of what he’d done. He hadn’t been a hero; he’d been stupid. One wrong move and half the convoy could have been blown away. He’d been moved out shortly afterwards following a complaint from the Serb Liaison Office. A diplomatic move was the official explanation. Later, he’d heard that a Serb hit squad had been looking for him.
‘So the other lads… they’re OK?’ Stanbridge said.
‘They’re fine.’ He knew why Stanbridge was asking; the answer might have an impact on his own future. ‘I dropped some petrol condoms on their car, that’s all. Singed the paintwork a bit.’
‘Petrol condoms?’ Stanbridge nearly laughed. ‘Shit. Wish I’d seen that. What did they do?’
‘They made a strategic withdrawal at speed. You mentioned this Latham. Why?’
Stanbridge licked his lips and Harry gave him another drink. ‘This business is all messed up now, what with the Russian thing. We got orders to get ready to bug out in the morning and make tonight our last shift. Sounds like something big’s going down.’
‘Lucky you. We can all go home, then.’
Stanbridge shook his head again. ‘We’re being replaced. By another team.’
‘What?’
‘Latham’s in charge.’
A Special Forces man-hunter. Coming here? His spirits sank. ‘What does he look like?’
‘From what I remember, tall, thin — skinny, actually. But fit. Hard. Lives like a monk. Extreme.’
The physical description fitted half the men in town. It wasn’t much help.
‘What’s the new team’s objective?’
Stanbridge shrugged. He was subdued, almost fearful. ‘They didn’t tell us. Just that the other team would take over. Same thing as us, I suppose. Only…’
‘Only what?’ Harry had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what he heard next.
‘Guys like Latham… they’re way beyond our kind of exercise. We’re still training, although we occasionally do other stuff, like Close Protection and that. But Latham…’ He stopped.
‘Spit it out, for Christ’s sake.’ Harry wasn’t about to use force, but if something nasty was in the wind, he had to know what it was.
‘Nick Brockley, our team leader, he said he’d heard whispers about Latham’s team. They’re not pleasant. Heavy duty.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘They’re called the Hit. Word is, they kill people.’
FORTY-ONE
Harry left Stanbridge where he was, with a sandwich and water to keep him quiet. He promised to release him before morning when he’d checked something out. Then he made his way back to Clare Jardine’s flat.
He was too wired up to contemplate sleep, but didn’t fancy the idea of staying with Stanbridge. Neither could he turn him loose without knowing what the other Clones were doing. Stanbridge might be lying and bring the others here in force and armed. This way, at least one of them was neutralized and the others were getting over the shock of being under attack. It might keep them unsettled enough not to take offensive action.
There was no sign of the burned car. He toured the block twice, checking the side streets, gradually widening the search until he was satisfied. He glanced up at Clare’s flat. It was in darkness. He considered going up to see if she was OK, then thought better of it.
Instead, he made his way to Rik’s place, a few blocks over. Novroni was a wide street close to the outskirts, a mix of family homes and one or two blocks which could have housed workers. There were very few cars in evidence, none of them new.
Number 24 was a single building squashed between two empty warehouses. The brickwork was crumbling, the front garden scrubby and abandoned to a litter of rusting metal and decaying packing crates. Originally part of the warehouses, he suspected, now leased by Red Station.
A light was on in one of the downstairs rooms, and he could see movement behind the net curtains. He made a tour of the area, checking cars and the dark spaces between buildings, until he was sure there were no watchers.
Stanbridge had been telling the truth.
He returned to his flat, stopping at an all-night working-men’s cafe for a mug of stewed coffee and a cold meat sandwich. He had to force the food down, but it could be a while before he got another opportunity. A few tired-looking men in dusty overalls and heavy boots were hunched over hot drinks or glasses of spirits, smoking and talking in low voices. They barely gave Harry a glance. Late shift or early? It was gone five and he wondered where the hell the time had gone.
He sensed something was wrong the moment he stepped off the street into the apartment building. It might have been in the quality of the grey light washing down the stairwell, or a shift in the atmosphere, as if the air inside had become charged with energy. He stopped and tilted his head to one side, listening. Something in the building had changed.
He waited for the telltale whisper of someone moving, the creak of shoe leather or the rustle of clothing. With no background noise, such sounds travelled easily at night.
Nothing.
He could have done with a weapon, but that was crying for the moon. Instead, he began the slow shift up the stairs, stepping carefully on to each tread.
He paused twice after hearing noises; one a scuffing sound, the other no more than a sigh. He decided it must be the building and continued on up. He stopped near the top to ease the aching muscles in his thighs. Jesus, he was getting far too old for this. If he made it out of here in one piece without getting shot, stabbed or having a bloody heart attack, he promised himself he’d start buying lottery tickets.