The Game (Tom Wood) - By Tom Wood Page 0,140

job was over and a briefcase full of money was his.

Leeson stood, phone in hand, waiting for Hart’s next update to say that Kooi was in position on the terrace, ready for Prudnikov’s speech to begin.

He didn’t like the bitch Lucille. She looked at him like he was nothing, like most women did. Dietrich willed Kooi to chicken out or screw it up so he could put his knife to good use.

An alarm blared.

Dietrich sat up and turned in the direction of the noise. It was coming from the new mill. ‘Is that a fire alarm?’

Leeson looked at him. ‘Yes.’ He glanced at the phone and then back at Dietrich. ‘Go and see what’s caused it.’

He stood. ‘It can’t be Kooi, can it?’

‘That’s what I want you to go check.’

‘But he’s at the embassy.’

Leeson tapped the screen of his phone. ‘Let’s not hang around to find out, shall we?’ He put the phone to his ear. ‘While I’m doing this, take two men and confirm Kooi’s family are secure. Then investigate that alarm. If it’s not Kooi it still needs shutting off. Hurry.’

He shouted at the Chechens in their own language and two followed Dietrich. They armed themselves in the antechamber. The third grabbed a rifle and moved to Leeson’s side.

Dietrich exited the old mill, the two Chechens following him. He walked fast, the stock of the assault rifle firm against his shoulder, his eyes peering along the length of the barrel, index finger inside the trigger guard, taking no chances, ready to blow Kooi full of holes if he had returned. Dietrich hoped he had. They could finally settle their differences.

He led the two Chechens down the corridor of space between the two buildings, gaze sweeping back and forth in line with the AK’s muzzle. They hurried to the north end of the old mill, where the staircase led down to the ruins of the ancient mill underground.

He saw the gate was open and dropped into a crouch, knowing now for certain that Kooi was here. He gestured for the Chechens to go down first into the darkness in case Kooi was waiting down there, ready for an ambush. Initially, the Chechens didn’t understand. In return, Dietrich didn’t understand what the men said to him, but he gesticulated and pointed and eventually they got the message. He followed them down, watching their flanks and rear because they were watching the front.

One used a torch to check the crumbling pressing room and the many chambers and alcoves leading off it. No woman. No kid. Expected, but no less bad for that.

Leeson had the third Chechen cover the entrance to the old mill’s pressing room while he spoke to Hart, holding the phone in his left hand so he could keep his pistol in his right.

‘He’s not on the terrace,’ Hart said. ‘And I can’t reach Francesca. The only explanation is Kooi’s gone. The job’s over.’

‘Detonate the bomb,’ Leeson said.

‘There’s no point, Robert. He isn’t here, let alone within range of Prudnikov. We’ve failed. It seems you made a catastrophic error of judgment in hiring Kooi.’

‘Detonate the bomb,’ Leeson said again. ‘Then get back here. Right now.’

‘I’m afraid I’m not going to do that. The job is over so I no longer work for you. Kooi outsmarted us all, and he’s proved far more capable than we gave him credit for. So if he’s already at the mill then I would strongly recommend vacating the vicinity as quickly as possible.’

‘I’m ordering you to get back here,’ Leeson yelled down the phone.

‘Goodbye, Robert,’ Hart said with some sympathy. ‘And if you do happen to get out of there then you best find a good rock to hide beneath because if Kooi doesn’t find you, I will.’

The call disconnected. Leeson shook with rage and fear. He couldn’t believe what was happening. He opened up his list of contacts to find the number for the mobile phone detonator.

Coughlin was sweating so badly that no amount of darkness was going to hide it. He watched and listened while Hart spoke on the phone to Leeson. He had heard Hart say the job was over and they’d failed and Kooi was gone. Shit. This was bad. All Coughlin had wanted to do was get paid and now Kooi had destroyed any chance of that. Coughlin didn’t know what to do. Taking the minivan and driving out of Rome and far away seemed like the only option. But he was owed money and he wasn’t going to

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