Dark Horizon, page 9
We see this quite often in families where a divorce has taken place, the headmaster had told him, making little effort not to sound judgmental. Or where a parent is absent. The child is easily distracted and lacks focus.
Alex couldn’t escape the sense that was a dig at him, but his shifts with the fire brigade were not always negotiable, and that meant sometimes George had to be a latchkey kid. It wasn’t ideal, he knew that, but there were precious little options available, and he wasn’t about to cede full responsibility for his son to his ex-wife Laura and whichever boyfriend she currently had.
We’ll make it work. A few nights ago, Kate had squeezed Alex’s hand and said those words, making it a promise – and for the first time in a long while, he’d felt like everything might get better.
If only outside influences didn’t keep on pulling them off the course they wanted to follow. He sighed and refocused his attention on George. ‘It’s getting chilly. We should go indoors.’ He walked over to the telescope and put a hand on it.
George made a face. ‘Can we wait a bit?’
‘Is there something else you want to look at?’
The boy stared at the ground. ‘I wanted to wait until Kate flew over.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Alex thought about her message. He hadn’t told George what she wrote, but the boy knew that the text had been from her.
Alex still wasn’t a hundred per cent sure what his son thought of the woman in his life, and he’d elected to let the boy make his mind up on his own. Alex and Kate had been together for some time now, and it was likely they’d stay that way. Recently, he had been wondering if he hadn’t made that clear enough, but this was a good sign – George had finally formed his own connection with Kate.
He looked at his watch. ‘Should be soon.’ They both turned to look in the direction of Ridley Hill, and presently the sound of aircraft engines came to them through the cold night air.
‘Is that her?’ George pointed at a cluster of blinking running lights around the angular shadow of an executive jet as it climbed high over the roof of the house, gaining altitude as it passed.
‘I reckon.’ Alex waved at the plane, but George just watched it go, his hands by his sides, his head turning to follow the jet until it vanished out of sight beyond a stand of trees. His son looked glum and distant. ‘What’s up, kiddo?’
George began the work of dismantling the telescope, finding his way to a reply. ‘If Kate doesn’t come home, does that meant we’ll have to go live somewhere else?’
Alex frowned, looking up again as the sound of the jet’s engines faded away. ‘What makes you think that Kate won’t come back?’
‘Mum didn’t,’ said George, in a voice that broke his dad’s heart, just a little.
‘Find a place to park,’ said Matvey, peering out through the side window of the BMW. ‘Away from the streetlights.’
‘OK.’ Luka licked his lips and guided the black car over to the kerb beneath a heavy-canopied oak tree growing out of the pavement. He killed the engine and the interior of the vehicle darkened, the only weak illumination spilling from the satellite phone in Matvey’s hand.
‘Which one?’ Stepan spoke up from the back seat, and he sounded vacant, indifferent to the whole thing.
‘Twenty six.’ Matvey read the details off the phone’s tiny screen, and jutted his chin at the house across the street. ‘The one with the blue door.’
Stepan leaned forward. ‘Looks empty. Nobody home.’
Matvey had to agree with that initial impression. The house was an ordinary two-storey affair, a semi-detached construction with a garden behind and a cracked, crazy-paved driveway at the front. A cobalt-coloured Vauxhall Corsa sat on one side of the drive, a dormant shape in the gloom.
No lights were visible through the windows of the ground floor, or the bedrooms above, and no windows were open. It wouldn’t be difficult to gain entry, if they needed to – they had the tools in the car to deal with the locks on the retrofitted double-glazed front door – but there would be little point breaking in if what they required was not present inside.
‘If we have to go searching . . .’ Luka was clearly thinking along the same lines. ‘That will eat up time we do not have. We are already well behind schedule.’
‘I am aware,’ Matvey growled, rubbing a hand over his face. His headache had not abated. An after-effect of the car crash, that and the fresh cuts on his forehead and cheek nagged at him, fouling his mood. He found a pack of painkillers in his jacket and dry-swallowed two more of the chalky tablets.
‘Are you certain this is the right place?’ Stepan glanced around, his nose wrinkling in disdain. ‘Not like the other house. This one is small.’
‘You grew up in a shit-box apartment in Saratov, what do you know?’ Luka looked back at the other man, taking the opportunity to goad him.
‘I will bury you in a shit-box,’ Stepan replied, with a mix of malice and studied disinterest.
‘Both of you, shut your mouths.’ Matvey had seen the two men on this trajectory before, and he stamped on it before it went too far. Stepan and Luka were like dogs, they were manageable when there was meat in the dish for them, but without that they became bored and turned on one another. ‘This is where they told us to go.’ He aimed a finger at the house with the blue door. ‘Look.’
A faint glow had appeared in one of the lower windows, as if someone had turned on a light in a back room that had now filtered through. The glow wavered as a shadow passed in front of it; the house was occupied after all.
Luka grunted. ‘We do it the same way as the other one?’
‘It is not women this time,’ noted Matvey, glancing at his phone before putting it away. The information he had been given mentioned a man and a young boy. ‘We will try a different approach.’
‘Pity.’ Stepan worked at his knuckle, where dried blood had gotten into the folds of his skin.
‘This is how we will proceed,’ said Matvey, his tone hardening. The other two men listened intently as he outlined the way they would take control of the house and its occupants.
NINE
In a wide, slow turn, the Hawker banked around from its departure point and settled into a southerly flight path, taking it over the countryside of the High Weald and East Sussex, on course to go ‘feet wet’ over the English Channel along the shore somewhere between the seaside towns of Pevensey Bay and Bexhill.
From there, the jet would be over water for most of the duration, first following the French coastline, then skimming the edges of Spanish and Portuguese airspace, before finally crossing the mouth of the Mediterranean toward North Africa. Weather conditions were decent all the way down, with nothing but a few brooding rain cells over the Bay of Biscay, lurking there like surly teenagers on a corner looking for trouble.
Kate made a mental note to give the storm complex a wide berth and thought again about her computations. It wouldn’t be a problem with the available weight of ‘Jet A’ fuel the Hawker carried in her wing tanks. The jet’s duration margins were good – providing Kate’s passengers didn’t decide to do something stupid like change their destination at the last moment.
Now they were airborne, the pilot could at least lose herself in the work of flying the aircraft, maintaining her focus on the practical, manageable business of the job instead of dwelling on the reasons behind the flight.
Or so she would have liked.
‘Get out of there,’ said a voice at her back, and Kate saw the American woman reflected in the canopy window, standing in the flight deck vestibule with her hands on her hips. She was talking to the co-pilot. ‘Go take a cigarette break or something.’
‘There’s no smoking on board this aircraft . . .’ Ray blinked, uncertain if he should obey, but then he gave in and removed his headset, climbing out to venture back past the American.
Kate pointedly ignored her as she came forward to take his place. She made a meal of squeezing herself into the co-pilot’s position, adjusting the seat and fiddling with it – but Kate noted she was careful not to touch anything vital, not like Finn had been. The pilot immediately had the sense that the woman was putting on a show for her, making more of a fuss than she really needed to.
When she finally put on the headset, Kate kept her eyes on the horizon and addressed her with chilly insolence. ‘Does this look like a theme park ride to you? Whatever you’re paying Teller, you don’t all get to come up here and have a turn.’
‘Oh, bless your heart for thinking you have a say in it.’ The woman smiled sweetly. ‘But you’re right. Don’t worry, Katherine, I’m not as impressed by the pretty lights as the usual rubes you must jet around.’ She took in the view outside with a sigh. ‘You get that a lot, I bet. Supermodels and their beefcake boyfriends posting shots for the ’Gram.’ She made a mocking duck-face pout.
Kate shot her a look, her patience fading fast. ‘Who the hell are you?’
The woman cocked her head. ‘Lillian Breeze, US State Department. Pleased ta meetcha. I’m the momma bear of this little group of cubs. I wanted to introduce myself; explain a few details.’
‘State Department,’ echoed Kate, in a dour tone. ‘I’ve heard that one before.’
‘I’ll bet you have. It does cover a multitude of sins.’ Breeze made a face as she shifted her position, trying to get comfortable. ‘Why don’t they ever make these seats for the ample-assed? It’s a fucking micro-aggression.’ She blew out a breath. ‘Look, can I level with you?’
‘Please don’t try me with the, “it’s just us girls here” speech,’ Kate shot back. ‘I don’t appreciate having my intelligence insulted.’
‘You clearly do not.’ Breeze paused, reframing her approach. ‘I’m sorry about this.’ She gestured at the air, and for the first time Kate felt like she actually meant what she was saying.
Or has she just found the right way to talk to me?
‘I know Teller pulled you into this job with zero notice,’ the other woman went on, brushing a stray curl of dark hair from her face. ‘Something about cancelling your whole weekend, huh? Yeah, I’d be pissed too if I were you. But we are, collectively, shit out of luck right now, what with your colleague Mr Price having upped and vanished.’
Kate said nothing, aware of Breeze watching her closely.
‘You know anything about that?’ The American offered a prompt. ‘You friends with him?’
‘No, and no,’ she replied. ‘John’s rather old-fashioned in his attitude towards women.’
‘Meaning he’s a stuffed shirt? Like Teller? Some flyboys really don’t take kindly to skirts in the clubhouse.’
She knew Breeze was fishing, but Kate couldn’t stop herself from answering. ‘One can’t always choose who one works with.’
‘Oh, I heard that.’ Breeze gave an emphatic nod. ‘But this is the life we chose, right?’
Kate took a breath. Breeze was working her, trying to make her engage so she could establish a rapport. Tellingly, the other woman had yet to divulge anything about herself, while she had already gotten Kate to impart more than she wanted to.
Kate met her gaze. ‘And what life is that, Lillian?’
Breeze’s open expression closed down, becoming serious. A shutter descended, and the pilot wondered if now she was seeing the real person, or another mask. ‘Katherine. Or is it Kate, Kathy, Katie? What do you prefer?’
‘Directness,’ she replied.
‘Fair enough.’ Breeze nodded again. ‘I know you’re former military, so you probably have a good idea what the fuck this is about.’ She waved her hand in the air. ‘I don’t want to have a problem with you.’ She pointed back at the cabin. ‘I have plenty to be dealing with already. So, I want to be one hundred per cent certain that you are not going to be more trouble for me to reckon with. Now, I took a look at your jacket, the Ministry of Defence gave my people access.’
‘Did they?’ Kate’s reply was cold. ‘How generous of them.’
‘You seem like a straight shooter,’ continued Breeze. ‘Am I right about that?’
‘I’ll do my job.’ Kate broke eye contact, scanning the screens in front of her for somewhere else to look. She’s read my military file, she thought. Which means she knows the reasons why I left.
‘Look, I understand what it’s like, doing this kind of work,’ said Breeze. ‘Of course I fuckin’ do. We gotta grind through twice as hard as them, just to keep the same pace.’ She inclined her head toward the men in the cabin. ‘If you’re clinical and tough, then you’re a cold-ass bitch. If you’re forthright and direct, that makes you aggressive, belligerent.’ Breeze paused. ‘In case you’re wondering, I picked Team Belligerent – it was a good fit for me. So I get it, I really do. I empathise.’
‘That’s nice.’ Kate kept her tone neutral. She knew something more was coming. ‘You want to hold hands now? Maybe we can synch up our moon cycles.’
Breeze allowed herself an amused chuckle, and the expected intimidation came following on behind. ‘I like your attitude. But know this – if you jerk me around, Katie, I will not hesitate one second before absolutely destroying you and all you hold dear. Am I clear?’
Even though Kate saw it coming, the pressure of the threat landed hard, like a ball of lead in her chest. ‘You’ve given that speech a fair few times, haven’t you?’
‘Sure thing,’ said Breeze. ‘Does it show?’ She shifted in the seat again and spared her a wan smile. ‘It’s nothing personal. It’s just the job.’
‘Right,’ Kate retorted coldly. ‘I understand completely.’ She returned to the controls, turning away from the American woman. ‘So now you can sod off my flight deck.’
At first, Alex thought he had misheard the knock at the front door. It was hesitant, wary, and it wasn’t until it sounded a second time that he was sure of it.
‘Door,’ called George, by way of confirmation, his voice echoing from the kitchen.
‘Yeah, I’ve got it.’ Alex walked up the short hallway, his brow furrowing. Who would be out there at this time of night? Most people would be at home in front of the television, not up and about bothering their neighbours. He wondered idly if it might be Patricia, the elderly lady who lived alone across the road. Sometimes she randomly appeared to borrow something or make an excuse for a chat. But not usually after sunset. And when she called on them, she always used the electronic bell that lit up and triggered its built-in camera.
Alex saw a shadow through the fan of frosted glass at the top of the door and didn’t recognise the pensioner’s thin profile. He automatically put the heel of his right hand on the back of the door and opened it enough to peer out.
A man in a black leather jacket, with thin, ashen hair and a broad build stood on the step. His gloved hands knitting together, he affected a slump-shouldered, apologetic posture. ‘Hello. Thank you! So sorry to bother you.’
His accent reminded Alex of one of the development firefighters who had come on to his crew a few months ago; a Polish-born trainee by the name of Marek. But unlike Marek’s warm manner and easy grin, the man on the doorstep had a plastic smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and scratches on his face that looked recent.
Something about him immediately put Alex on alert, and he pressed his foot to the door, annoyed at himself for not having secured the chain-lock before opening it to a stranger.
‘Can I help you?’ Alex kept his tone brisk and deliberately unwelcoming.
‘I am very sorry . . . you were going out?’ The man pointed with one hand, the other disappearing into the pocket of his jacket. Alex was still in his coat and shoes from having been stargazing in the garden with his son. ‘Sorry to interrupt! I am pleased I caught you!’
‘Listen, if you’re selling something, whatever it is, we’re not interested.’ Alex began to close the door.
‘No, no!’ The man held up a hand and shook his head. ‘Please! I hope you can help me! I am quite lost. My car, you see . . .’ He pointed at a black shape parked up the road, lost in shadow. ‘The computer voice with the map? She does not work any more!’
‘You mean the sat nav?’
‘Sat nav. Yes.’ The man nodded vigorously, glancing up and down the empty path. ‘But I should say no. And so I am not sure where I am.’
‘This street is Luna Road,’ explained Alex. ‘Is that where you were looking for, mate?’
‘Oh yes.’
As the other man replied, Alex noticed for the first time that the house’s digital bell was missing from the doorframe. The whole wireless unit had been physically removed from its mounting. His face fell.
‘Is there something wrong?’
‘My doorbell—’
Alex started to answer, but the sound of splintering wood carried down the hallway from beyond the kitchen, and he heard George call out a worried ‘Dad?’
For a fraction of a second, Alex’s attention split between the stranger on the doorstep and the fearful tone of his son’s voice. He did what any good parent would do and glanced towards his son.
The man in the jacket had been waiting for exactly that moment, having been prepared to act on the distraction from the second he approached the house. The long, nickel-plated pistol he had concealed came out of his pocket as he shoulder-charged into the half-open door, slamming it back on its hinges.
The door cracked against Alex’s leg and he stumbled, briefly caught off-guard, long enough for the stranger to club him across the face with the butt of the gun. The brutal impact lit sparks of light and sent a harsh bolt of pain through his skull.
Alex fell against the wall, knocking down a framed picture of a lighthouse that had been a gift from his sister. The man in the black jacket was already over the threshold and inside the house as Alex recovered, adrenaline burning through his brief moment of inattention.
He pushed back with a growl on his lips, his big hands rising, forming into fists, ready to fight – but then he stopped dead.
Alex hadn’t quite grasped what the man in the jacket had used to strike him with, but now he saw it. The shape of the shiny, long-nosed semi-automatic pressed into his sternum, and the stranger’s faux-hapless act had evaporated.
