The Game (Tom Wood) - By Tom Wood Page 0,42

When the screen came out of hibernation the service provider’s default background lit up. There was no pass lock and he checked the call log. Just one number. Four entries. The most recent call lasted nine seconds and was made eight minutes ago, moments after he had stepped out of the taxi. The others were spaced out over the evening. The earliest was three hours ago. He loaded the location app.

Francesca was watching him through the rear view mirror while she gently massaged her throat.

Victor turned off the app, put the screen back into hibernation and held out the phone and the car keys in one palm.

She looked at him, suspicious of a trap. She was right to be cautious of him now she had an idea of what he was capable of, but at this particular moment there was nothing to fear.

He said, ‘Take them.’

Francesca twisted in her seat again and picked the keys out of his open hand, careful not to make contact with his skin. She snapped her hand away, then paused when he made no movement to grab at her, before taking back the phone. She looked at it suspiciously.

‘There’s nothing to be concerned about,’ he said. ‘I haven’t tampered with it.’

She didn’t believe him, but also didn’t know what he could have done to the phone in such a short time. She stared at his reflection as she slipped it into a pocket.

‘You shouldn’t be working for Leeson,’ Victor said.

‘Really? And why exactly shouldn’t I?’

‘You haven’t got what it takes for this kind of life.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because I know a little something about it.’

She spoke through tight lips. ‘What do you care?’

‘Who says I care?’

‘I can look after myself, all right?’

‘Like you did on the way here?’

‘Well, I’ll be ready next time, won’t I? Now I know there are assholes like you in the world.’

‘But that’s the problem,’ Victor said. ‘There are people even worse than me out there.’

She huffed. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘And that’s what will get you killed.’

She didn’t respond. She just stared at him.

He sat back and looked out of the side window. He wondered if the marksman was still in the same position or whether he had moved to another. Had their roles been reversed, Victor would have moved so that on its way to the exit the car would pass horizontally through his field of view, so if necessary he could shoot someone in the back seat with minimal risk to the driver.

‘There’s a flight leaving soon,’ he said. ‘I’d like to be on it.’

Francesca turned the ignition key and shuffled on the beaded seat cover to get comfortable. ‘Can I have the pistol back as well?’

‘That’s up to you. You can either have it back when we get to the airport, or you can have one of the bullets now.’

She frowned and released the handbrake.

TWENTY-ONE

Vienna, Austria

The flight arrived after midnight. On board were no more than half the passengers carried by the inward flight. Victor was one of the first off the plane. He walked briskly through baggage reclaim and found Janice Muir waiting for him at the bottom of the escalators, as Francesca had in Budapest. She looked tired.

‘Well?’ she said as he approached her.

‘Come with me.’ Victor didn’t stop. ‘I’m hungry.’

He ordered a sandwich at one of the many restaurants in the airport that were still open. There were only two other tables for the waitress to serve and she was delighted to have Victor’s custom. He asked for a coffee for Muir. She didn’t ask for one, but she looked like she could use it. She looked like she could use it via a drip.

As soon as the waitress had left them, Muir said, ‘What happened?’

‘I was picked up at the airport by one of the broker’s people. A woman, disguised as a taxi driver. She drove me where the broker was waiting. It was an interview, as expected. We only spoke for a few minutes, but he spent every one assessing me. We didn’t discuss a contract, however.’

‘Did you get a name?’

‘He introduced himself as Robert Leeson. The bogus taxi driver also supplied me with that name.’

‘Genuine?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘He had a subordinate pick me up from the airport to make sure I didn’t have a weapon. We met on an empty area of wasteland. He had an ex-military meathead driving him around in a Rolls-Royce Phantom fitted out with top of the range armoured

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