exposed areas of chest and back.
‘I’m Kooi,’ Victor said.
He shook the hand, maintaining an even expression despite the enormous force he felt in Jaeger’s grip. He had no doubt that if he so chose, Jaeger could break his hand without even applying his full strength.
‘From Holland, right?’ Jaeger asked.
Victor nodded.
‘I like your cheese.’
‘I don’t make it.’
Jaeger grinned and released Victor’s hand. It was red.
They stared at each other for a moment. Jaeger was evaluating Victor, and either he couldn’t hide that fact or he didn’t feel the need to. Victor returned the favour.
Jaeger said to Leeson, ‘I’d better get back to it,’ and then to Victor, ‘See you around, Kooi from Holland.’
‘What’s in the barn?’ Victor asked when Jaeger had angled himself back through the door.
‘My Phantom,’ Leeson said. ‘But the barn is off limits to everyone but myself and Mr Jaeger. Please respect that.’
‘Of course.’
They stood in silence for a moment. Leeson gestured to the red-tiled rooftops and church spire of the village to the south.
‘It’s a nice place,’ he said. ‘Lots of chubby little Italians going about their business as if the world had stopped turning the same time as the first motor car appeared.’
‘Nothing wrong with leading a quiet life.’
‘True enough, I suppose. But for men like you and I quiet is just not enough, is it? Otherwise we wouldn’t be standing here now.’
‘One day it might be.’
‘When you’re old and grey and growing fat from the spoils of a less quiet life?’
‘That’s the plan.’
‘If you live that long, you mean?’
Victor nodded.
Leeson patted him on the arm, then looked away, turning and tilting his head back so the sun shone on his face. Victor turned on the spot, memorising features of the farmhouse, the surrounding countryside, angles and distances and lines of sight. The village was about five kilometres away, downhill, but cross country because he wouldn’t be able to take a road and risk being spotted. A twenty-minute slow jog because he couldn’t afford to arrive at the village out of breath and sweating, and because he would have to run back uphill for thirty minutes. If the village was as rustic as Leeson described there would likely be a payphone. He needed to make contact with Muir as soon as possible. The farmhouse was old. There were no mod cons. No security measures. He could slip away tonight, update Muir, and be back within an hour.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel driveway. Too light for Dietrich or Jaeger. Too heavy for Francesca. Another member of the team.
‘Mr Coughlin,’ Leeson said as he turned around. ‘How good of you to join us.’
The man was slight of build, mid-twenties, dressed in khaki trousers and a white undershirt. His arms were thin and tanned brown up to a line where the sleeves of a T-shirt would reach, and pale beyond. His shoulders had reddened in the sun.
‘Is this Kooi?’
He was British, from the north of the country.
‘Mr Kooi,’ Leeson said, ‘meet Mr Coughlin.’
He was about five eight, about one hundred and fifty pounds. He wore a backwards-facing baseball cap and mirrored sunglasses. Three days’ worth of stubble covered his cheeks and neck and surrounded his mouth.
‘You any good?’ Coughlin asked.
‘You had better believe it.’
Coughlin nodded, but the stubble, sunglasses and hat made his face unreadable.
Leeson said, a little apologetically, ‘Mr Coughlin is something of an expert marksman.’
‘Royal Marine sniper.’ Coughlin pointed with his chin to a tattoo on his left shoulder. ‘Thirty-two confirmed between Afghan and Iraq.’
Victor said, ‘Only thirty-two?’
Coughlin’s back straightened. ‘A lot more unconfirmed. Obviously.’
‘The Marines must have been sorry when you left.’
Coughlin said nothing but his smile disappeared. ‘So, what action have you seen in the world famous Dutch military? I’m all ears here.’
‘Who said I’m ex-military?’
Coughlin sneered. ‘A civilian? Shit. You must be the designated driver then.’
‘Mr Kooi has proved himself very capable,’ Leeson interjected.
‘That right?’
Victor nodded.
Coughlin said, ‘Then I can’t wait to see you in action.’
When they were back in the farmhouse’s kitchen, Leeson said, ‘Do you know why I hired you?’
‘I don’t even know what you hired me for, so I wouldn’t even guess why you hired me.’
‘I hired you because you are careful. I hired you because you didn’t accept my offer to kill Francesca. You don’t act rashly. You do what is sensible.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I think you do, at least partly. For the job I need doing I need different people with different skill sets as well as different mindsets. For example, Mr Dietrich would brave a storm of bullets in