Pendry shook his head. ‘Nothing personal. Had a beef about refugees and asylum seekers, but he’s not alone in that. Maybe he was burned out. It happens.’ He gave Harry a hard look. ‘But you’re not here just to give me a warning, are you?’
‘You’ve lost me,’ Harry said easily.
‘Yeah, right.’ Pendry’s friendly demeanour was gone. ‘You really trailed all the way out here to warn me that I might have a killer freak on my ass? Bikovsky, too? And — what was his name — Koslov? You going all the way to Minsk or Leningrad to warn him? You never heard of the phone?’
A couple of businessmen at a nearby table glanced across as Pendry’s words reached them, and the waitress at a dessert trolley paused in the middle of spooning out some gateau.
‘Moscow, actually,’ Harry replied. ‘And if I have to, yes.’
Pendry pushed his plate away. ‘I’m done,’ he hissed. ‘You want to ask me did I run a card game while I was running cover for the UN big cheese? Or in my free time, did I kill and rape a local girl?’
‘If I’d thought it was you,’ Harry said, quietly dispassionate, ‘we wouldn’t be sitting here. If the rumours are true, someone did it. It’s my job to find out who — and stop the rest of you joining Orti, Broms and Carvalho. One of you might have seen something — something completely innocent-looking but possibly significant. Asking on the phone wouldn’t have been enough. . I have to do it face to face.’
The quiet force of Harry’s words drove the anger out of Pendry like air from a tyre. After a second or two he waved a hand and sat back. ‘Sorry. I thought you were looking at me for this thing.’
‘I’m looking at everyone. And I’m a suspect, too. We all are — those of us who are left.’
‘So what now?’
‘You watch your back. This killer’s taken out three good men so far — all combat trained. If it’s revenge for the girl he’s after, he’s got one hell of an incentive.’
Harry went to his room after saying goodbye to Pendry and lay down to let his mind go blank. Ten minutes later, there was a knock at his door. He opened it and stood back.
‘Hello, dear,’ said Rik Ferris, walking past him. He looked tired and rumpled from the flight, his hair even more spiky than usual. He was carrying a travel bag and a laptop case. ‘Nice hotel, this. Which is my bed?’
‘Your room’s down the hall. You’ll have to check in,’ Harry told him. ‘Any problems?’ He was referring to the flight over.
Rik shook his head. ‘No. Normal crap with immigration, but nothing unusual.’
They had discussed Rik’s involvement and decided on discretion while on the move. Former MI5 officers were not normally high on anyone’s suspect or watch list but Rik had been involved in the same shooting incident in central London as Harry a few months before, and they didn’t want to take a chance on his being stopped by an eagle-eyed security officer. And Harry already knew from the Irina Demescu episode how leaky the UN was. Having Rik in the background under an assumed name, rather than some nameless IT geek in the depths of UN Plaza, was a simple precaution.
‘This is for emergencies only.’ Harry handed him the UN ID card and the Ruger with a spare magazine.
Rik studied the name on the card. ‘Wasn’t there a Jim Morrison who killed himself?’
‘Is that a problem?’
Rik shrugged. ‘No, that’s cool. Way before my time, anyway.’ He checked the Ruger and inserted a magazine, then ejected it again. ‘Nice. Who do I get to shoot?’
Harry was watching him carefully. Rik was smiling but it didn’t quite look right. He knew why: Rik was thinking about the time he’d used a gun in London. He’d got shot then, but still kept firing. That kind of thing stays with you.
‘Nobody, I hope. You’re my back-stop. You stay below the parapet at all times. We don’t even travel together.’
‘Don’t you trust your new best friend?’
‘It’s not Deane who bothers me: the UN’s full of holes and I’d rather you didn’t figure on anyone’s radar. That way we keep an advantage.’
Rik nodded. ‘Fine.’ He put the gun down and produced two mobile phones. He handed one to Harry. ‘We keep in touch with these. I’ve already fed in my number. Use it and lose it if you have to — we can always get replacements. Deane has your UK mobile number, don’t forget; if he wants to find you, he’ll put a trace on the signal.’
‘You’re as paranoid as me.’
Rik gave a crooked smile. ‘I learned from the master.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Harry pointed at the internet connection on the side table. ‘Plug in and boot up. We’ve got work to do.’
TWENTY
Sergeant Carl Pendry had eased his way with care into a clump of juniper, and was waiting for the first of his sniper class to arrive. The morning was fresh with the smell of damp earth, a touch of pine and closer to, the sharp, rich aroma of crushed grass. High in the trees a squirrel scratched away, oblivious to the man below. It was one of the things Pendry loved about this job and always impressed on his trainees: snipers were in a dangerous profession, out on their own or with a spotter for hours, even days at a time. But that didn’t mean a man couldn’t appreciate his surroundings.
Pendry was dressed in regulation camouflage smock and pants, his head covered by a green woollen net cap dotted with foliage. His face was a blend of wavy green camo paint to break up the darkness of his skin against the background, and in his hand he held an M16 assault rifle. He had been in the same position for forty minutes and was beginning to feel the first pangs of hunger. His mouth was dry from the effects of the drinks with Harry the previous evening, and he wished he’d brought some water. A glance at his watch told him it was just coming up to 6 a.m.
There were five men in the class, all of them better than good. Their task was simple: to approach and ‘take out’ Pendry without being detected. But it had to be within a thirty-yard kill zone. Anyone spotted before that was in danger of flunking the course or being back-marked. And none of them was keen to go through another six weeks of initiative tests, psychological assessments, assault courses and daily runs considered among the most demanding in the US military.
Their covert skills were still a little rough around the edges, and Pendry had decided to introduce an element of realism to the scenario. Earlier that morning he’d armed himself with a few flash-bangs — giant fireworks which could blow a metal pail several feet. In the words of the quartermaster-armourer, they were harmless to humans unless swallowed or, he’d added drily, if they landed right next to a trainee who was dreaming of his girl back home. The noise alone would blow the shit clean out of his bowels.
A faint scuffle a few yards away and the squirrel ceased its scratching. Pendry half-closed his eyes, concentrating on locating the source of the noise. He was guessing it would be Lloyd; he was the best of the bunch and unbelievably quick. Twenty-one years old and thin as a whippet, the farm boy from the Smokey Mountains could slide through the undergrowth like a snake.
Pendry pulled out one of the flash-bangs. Give it twenty seconds and if Mr Lloyd was sitting in the same spot, his ears would be ringing for a week. If that didn’t scare the crap out of him, and some idea of realism into him, Pendry had live rounds in his M16 to warm up the atmosphere around the boy’s head a little.
A small bird looped urgently out of a bush thirty feet away. It was near the source of the earlier sound, and Pendry heard a faint rasp of clothing. He grinned. Lloyd had snagged himself on a root. Now he was trying to free himself. This was going to be easy.
Then came a muffled drumming, followed by the sound of someone running through the bushes. He frowned. If that was Lloyd, he was going the wrong way!
Pendry exploded out of his hide, his M16 held across his body and the flash-bang spinning away into the grass. Either his star recruit had gone nuts or someone had intruded on the exercise. Damned civilians — they were way out of place this far into the training grounds! Now he had to make sure the stupid fucker didn’t get shot by one of the trainees.