The Game (Tom Wood) - By Tom Wood Page 0,46

tune, volume and pitch of the speaker’s voice. The result was a perfect disguise only identifiable by the slight electronic quality that occasionally affected words in a similar way to that of the tuneless studio-enhanced singing star. Leeson’s own voice was similarly scrambled.

‘Kooi was a most interesting individual,’ Leeson answered.

‘Tell me about him.’

‘He wasn’t quite what I was expecting from the information I had.’

‘In what sense?’

Leeson considered for a moment, before answering: ‘He was well mannered and patient and clearly of more experience than I had believed. He had no complaints about how we met. He seemed in complete control at all times, yet had to understand he was at my mercy.’

‘A front?’

‘I can tell the difference,’ Leeson said.

‘Calm?’

‘Supremely.’

‘He seems very promising thus far. But, of course, everything hinges on how he reacted to the proposal.’

Leeson topped up his Scotch from the crystal decanter. ‘He said no.’

‘Was there hesitation?’

‘Not a second’s deliberation. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t think about it. He looked at my watch as if it was a piece of junk.’

‘Did you increase the offer?’

‘Of course. I offered to double the money. It didn’t even tempt him.’

‘Fascinating,’ the voice said.

‘He was a fascinating individual.’

‘Do you think he’ll be suitable?’

‘That would first depend on how the insurance policy is coming together.’

‘Perfectly,’ the voice said.

‘Excellent to know.’

The voice said, ‘So is he suitable for the position?’

Leeson considered again. ‘Yes and no.’

‘Yes and no?’ the voice echoed.

‘Yes for the reasons already discussed. He can do what we need him to.’

‘But?’

‘But there is something about him that is dangerous.’

‘As he is a professional killer, I would have been most surprised had he exuded no danger.’

‘That’s not what I mean,’ Leeson said. ‘There was something in his manner I have not encountered before. Something I cannot articulate.’

‘It’s not like you to be lost for words.’

He swallowed some Scotch. ‘I am equally aware of the anomaly.’

The voice said, ‘I’m not sure how much consideration we can give to a feeling that you can’t even describe.’

‘I’m not saying we should. But it is necessary to be frank and honest in my assessment. We need to hire the right man for a very specific kind of job. Neither of us can afford to make a hasty decision.’

‘And it would be, had your discussion with Mr Kooi not been the last step of a journey begun long ago, and your assessment of him need only include your conclusion of his suitability. So, my advice would be to discount any inexpressible feelings you might have about the man, and tell me whether we can proceed with him. Yes or no?’

Leeson drained his glass and delivered his answer.

TWENTY-THREE

Iceland

The pickup was a rugged Toyota Land Cruiser modified to cope with the unpredictable and sometimes extreme weather and diverse geophysical conditions of Iceland. The tyres were extra large and could handle snow, rock and sand and provided the height necessary to cross the many glacial waterways. The fuel tank had one hundred and fifty per cent of the standard capacity for the long distances it would need to cover. The vehicle was also equipped with GPS and VHF radios, additional lights, high-powered winch and air compressor.

Wipers swung back and forth to fight the relentless sleet from sticking to the windscreen glass. Fog lights bounced off the waterfall of partially frozen raindrops and the world beyond was an impenetrable mass of grey. The cab’s temperature was pleasant thanks to the Land Cruiser’s heating. The FM radio managed to pick up a single station that ran a talk show Victor didn’t understand more than a few words of.

He gathered that the host was discussing global finance with a banking expert, but between the weak signal and Victor’s limited understanding of Icelandic, they could have been discussing pretty much anything. Still, it was something to pass the time.

It had been two days since he’d left Muir and he was about fifteen kilometres south of the small town of Húsavík, heading south along the main road that looped around the coast, linking Húsavík with Akureyri. Each town had fewer than five thousand inhabitants, and they were as remote as human civilisation was ever likely to, or would want to, get.

Another kilometre and Victor slowed. Visibility was poor through the sleet and in the featureless terrain, the turning would be easy to miss. Satellite navigation would have informed him when he was approaching it, but it would also inform anyone else with the resources to hijack a GPS signal. Victor had plenty of enemies capable of

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