Dance With the Enemy (10 page)

The safe house had been empty when Logan arrived. Still lost in his thoughts about what had just happened to him, he’d simply sat down on the sofa in the lounge in silence. In contemplation. He wasn’t even aware of how long he’d sat there. Maybe as long as an hour. He should have called Mackie. But his mind was too busy, going around in circles, trying to determine what it was he needed to do to get his life back on track.

Eventually Logan’s phone chirped in his pocket, breaking his trance. He picked it out and answered.

‘Logan, I’ve been wondering where you got to,’ Mackie said. ‘I tried calling you.’

Logan hadn’t noticed any missed calls. ‘I’m at the safe house. I thought you would be here?’

‘I’m back in London,’ Mackie declared without elaboration. ‘Have you been to see Djourou?’

Logan sat up on the sofa. He was surprised that Mackie hadn’t heard about the incident through his contacts. Maybe the police didn’t know about Djourou yet. That would probably be of some benefit, keeping them a step away from getting under Logan’s nose.

‘Yeah, I paid him a visit.’

‘And? Come on, the suspense is killing me. What have you got?’

‘Well, I’m pretty sure we’ve got one dead and one with a serious gunshot wound to the leg.’

‘Jesus, Logan,’ Mackie said. ‘Life’s never simple with you, is it?’

‘Never simple? At least I’m consistent,’ Logan said, laughing.
Keep it up
, he told himself.
You may be an emotional wreck, but don’t let on to anyone else
. ‘And I’m confident no-one saw me coming or going,’ he added, wanting to make it clear that his visit to Djourou hadn’t resulted in his adding unwanted heat on himself following the previous day’s exploits at the hospital.

‘Wait. Please don’t tell me you’ve gone and done Djourou?’ Mackie said.

‘Would it matter if I had? But no, it was one of his guards that I put down. Djourou will just have a bit of a limp from now on.’

‘Just tell me what happened.’

‘Well, Djourou’s certainly involved somehow. As soon as I mentioned Vincent’s name, his antennae went up. In fact, that very nearly got me killed.’

‘Did he tell you anything?’

‘A name: Richard Blakemore. A well-known client by all accounts. Oh, and Djourou said he was English. Nice to know we’re playing close to home.’

‘Richard Blakemore, hey?’ Mackie said.

‘Yep. Do you know him?’

‘No. I don’t think so. But we’ll check him out. If he’s anyone of interest, he’ll be on our radar one way or another.’

‘I also got the impression that Djourou is more than just your average passport counterfeiter. Judging by the level of security he had.’

‘
Had
being the operative word.’

‘I didn’t get a chance to see what else he was operating from there, though. I was only in his place for a few minutes. Is there anything we know about what else it could be?’

‘You tell me. If Djourou is as good as people say he is, then it wouldn’t surprise me at all if the security you saw was just for his ID business. People will pay top dollar for a good fake.’

‘Maybe so. But I’m even less convinced by the police’s theory now,’ Logan said.

‘What, just because you’ve got the name of one English guy?’ Mackie responded. ‘The terrorist link is still pretty strong if you ask me.’

‘I just think there’s more to this than meets the eye,’ Logan said, trying to keep hold of his irritation at Mackie summarily dismissing what he was saying. ‘And it’s not just one Englishman that’s in the mix here. It’s Blakemore plus Vincent, plus Djourou.’

Logan got up from the sofa and moved over to the lounge window, which looked out onto the street. It was quiet outside, with just the odd car and pedestrian passing by. The view onto the road and the ramshackle buildings on the opposite side was anything but alluring, and Logan couldn’t help but think fleetingly of all the safe houses he’d been to over the years, nearly all of them in less than salubrious parts of the towns and cities in which they were located. As glamorous and thrilling as his secretive job may have seemed to young men and women on the outside world, he’d never himself bought into that false impression – it certainly didn’t really match the reality. His job was about doing a duty, carrying out orders, not living a fantasy life.

‘Did Djourou say anything about Selim?’

‘I didn’t really have time to stay around and ask too many questions. But it doesn’t matter anyway. With Blakemore’s name, we’ve got something to go on now.’

‘Unless Djourou sold you a stinker.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Logan said, offended. ‘You didn’t see the look in his eyes. Blakemore needs to be checked out.’

‘Fine. Check him out.’

‘How do you want to deal with Djourou? I just left him and his crew at his place.’

‘Not much more we can do. Sooner or later it’ll get called in to the police. We’ll let them deal with it. As far as I know the police haven’t yet made any link between Modena and Djourou, so we’re a step ahead of them.’

‘Are you going to tell them?’

‘I will do, but we can’t have them chasing the same leads as you. They’ll just get in your way and slow you down. I’ll pass on the Djourou information once we know if we’ve got anything to go on with Blakemore.’

‘I’ll get onto it now.’

‘Okay, keep me in the loop,’ Mackie said before ending the call.

Logan immediately dialled the number for Laura Anderson at the JIA office in London. Laura was a mid-level administrator. Probably the best one the JIA had, as far as Logan was concerned – though he only knew a handful of the names and faces of the people at HQ. Although being a field agent may seem like the more desirable side of the intelligence business, they were somewhat segregated from everyone else. As a field agent, Logan
didn’t even have access to the HQ building – his role essentially saw him move from safe house to safe house, hotel to hotel, always following the action.

‘Laura, its Carl. How are things?’

Logan wasn’t one for idle chit chat – not with most people, at least. He made an exception for Laura. He’d never really figured why, other than the fact that she nearly always flirted with him.

‘Good, thanks,’ Laura said. ‘I heard your holiday got cut short. What a bummer.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Well, at least you didn’t have to spend too much time away from me.’

‘That is a bonus, I guess.’

‘Perhaps next time you should invite me. I’ve always wanted to go to Vegas.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind. I need to ask a favour.’

‘Ouch, that was a quick change of subject. One day you’ll take me up on my offers.’

‘One day,’ Logan said, well aware that both of them knew it was a lie.

Logan gave Laura the threadbare information he had about Blakemore. As he was doing so, his phone began to vibrate in his hand. He took it away from his ear and saw there was another call waiting.

‘Carl, are you still there?’ Laura said.

He let the call ring out. ‘Yeah, I’m still here,’ he said.

But seconds later his phone was vibrating again.

‘Look, Laura, I’ve got to go,’ Logan said. ‘Call me as soon as you have anything at all on Blakemore.’

‘Will do, sweetie.’

Logan couldn’t help but smile at her words as he hung up and answered the incoming call.

It was Mackie again. And he didn’t sound happy.

‘We’ve had a development,’ Mackie said.

Logan’s first reaction at hearing the words was one of positivity. But that quickly dissipated as Mackie carried on.

‘This might not be what you want to hear,’ Mackie said, ‘but I think the police’s theory is looking a little more solid now.’

‘What do you mean? Why?’

‘The kidnappers have made contact.’

It didn’t take Logan long to find it. The kidnappers had posted the video on the internet. It was already going viral, being re-posted and commented on here, there and everywhere. TV and radio stations were playing it, reporting on it, and it would surely be all over the newspapers in the morning. Logan sat at the desk in the safe house office and watched the video on one of the laptops there. It brought back too many hard memories. At times he found himself close to tears, reliving in his mind what Modena was going through.

In the video, four armed men brandishing assault rifles stood either side of the forlorn figure of Frank Modena. They were wearing black clothing that looked like army fatigues and had balaclavas covering their heads.

Modena was kneeling on the ground, dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit. His hands were tied behind his back. He had almost certainly been beaten: his face was bloodied and swollen. With his clothes on, though, it was hard to tell the full extent of his injuries. Or what other kind of torture he’d had to endure.

One of the armed men opened the video, speaking in Arabic. After that, Modena introduced himself. He stated his name, the name of his wife and where he came from. He spoke slowly, clearly and without any obvious impediment. That at least suggested his physical and mental state weren’t too far gone. But it wasn’t really possible to confirm that just from the video.

Modena then proceeded with the demand of the kidnappers: for all Muslim prisoners of war held by the United States to be freed. He finished his address by stating that the kidnappers
would kill him in three days if their demand was not met. After that, the video ended.

Logan sat in silence for a good five minutes once the video had finished.

‘Jesus,’ was all he eventually said.

He really didn’t know what to think now. The video certainly looked genuine enough. But surely the involvement of Vincent and Blakemore meant
something
?

It wasn’t long before Logan’s phone was buzzing again. He picked it up and reluctantly answered.

‘So, where does this leave us?’ Mackie asked. ‘What does this mean for your theory that Modena’s kidnapping isn’t simply a terrorist plot?’

Logan didn’t know. If the video was legitimate, this would be one hell of a coup for whichever terrorist cell was responsible. They had kidnapped a prominent American and were parading him on the internet. There was nothing in the video that hadn’t been done before with other victims, but the profile of Modena, and the fact he’d been taken not in a war-torn country but in Paris, made the nature of his disappearance all the more unique. And disturbing.

But the kidnappers were making a demand that was outrageous. They must have known it wouldn’t be granted.

‘It’s just too obvious,’ Logan said after a few moments’ thought. Though he wasn’t really sure why he was so reluctant to buy the whole charade anymore. What he wanted most in the world was for all of this to lead him to Selim. He was desperate for his revenge. But regardless of Selim’s involvement, at the minute there were just too many elements which didn’t add up.

‘Meaning?’ Mackie said, prompting Logan, who was still trying to convince himself of his own words.

‘Meaning Islamic terrorists kidnapping a Westerner and parading him on the internet like that. It’s not exactly original, is it?’

‘That doesn’t mean it’s not true.’

‘No, but I still don’t like it,’ Logan said. ‘Why make such a stupid demand? They could have asked for ten million dollars. Twenty million. But no, they asked for something they won’t ever get. Why bother?’

‘I have to say,’ Mackie said, ‘as disturbing as that video is, I
agree with you. Why bother making a demand at all? They could have just killed him straight off and made that their video. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time a kidnapping by an extremist cell has ended that way.’

Logan felt his whole demeanour change at his boss’s words. Finally it felt like they were on an even keel.

‘It comes back to the same question then,’ Logan said. ‘Why Modena? What does he have that they want?’

‘I don’t know,’ Mackie said.

‘No. Me neither. But I’m going to find out.’

‘Just be careful, Logan.’

It was almost a throw-away comment. Something that Mackie had said to him more than once recently. But this time, Logan picked up that there was more to it than that.

‘What do you mean?’

Mackie didn’t respond straight away. Logan was about to push him when he finally did.

‘There’re a lot of eyes on you, Logan. Just be careful.’

‘This again? Is there something you’re not telling me here?’

‘Like what? I’m just concerned. I want to make sure you’re okay. You know your psychologist told me you’re suffering from post-traumatic stress. I mean, I guess I knew that, but –’

‘She said that to you?’ Logan interrupted. ‘Isn’t what happens in that room supposed to be between her and me?’

‘That’s not how it works. You’re seeing her because I need to know if you’re mentally fit to carry out your role. She has doubts that you are. I’m not so sure I agree with her, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.’

‘I’m fine,’ Logan said. ‘Just let me do my job.’

He ended the call before Mackie could say anything more, then stormed out of the safe house.

By the time Logan got back to his car, his hands were shaking again. This time he was pretty sure it was adrenaline, though. He was incensed by what Mackie had just said to him. And about what that stupid bitch of a psychologist had said to Mackie. Why did they care anyway? He did his job, he got results. So what did it matter whether he did that with a smile or a frown on his face?

And what the hell did post-traumatic stress mean anyway? What he had seen was traumatic. It was stressful. What they should have been worried about was the eighteen-year period
before that during which he’d felt nothing about killing people and seeing people be killed. Surely that was the type of man who was a cause for concern. But no, the moment he reacted like a real human being, they tried to make out that he was not good enough to do his job.

He pulled away from the kerb, engine fully revved, tyres screeching. He only narrowly avoided hitting an oncoming car. The driver gave him the finger. Logan did his best to ignore it. He couldn’t take his anger out on some random guy.

After a few minutes of driving, he started to calm again. The trembling in his hands stopped and the fog began to clear. Still, he was left with a sour taste in his mouth. Mackie was the person who had pulled Logan into this in the first place. Not just this case, but this entire life. If anyone was responsible for the direction Logan’s life had taken, it was Mackie. Now he was talking to Logan like he was no longer the right man for the job. And that hurt him.

But he was sure he would prove Mackie wrong.

He had to.

Logan parked the car in an underground car park around the corner from the hotel. After paying at the ticket machine, he walked the short distance to where he was staying and went in through the front entrance. He smiled and nodded at the man on reception as he made his way towards the lifts.

‘Er, Mr Burrows?’ the man on reception said as Logan walked past.

Logan turned back to him and smiled again.

The man came from around the reception desk and into the foyer, and walked up to Logan. ‘I just wanted to check that everything is okay with you, sir?’

What? Not another do-gooder
, Logan thought. Perhaps he should start walking around with a sign on his head saying,
I’m fine. Honest, I am
.

‘Yes, everything’s okay, thanks. Why wouldn’t it be?’

‘Well, it’s just after the Interpol detective was looking for you yesterday. I thought maybe something was wrong?’

Logan felt his body stiffen, his heart rate quicken. He knew immediately what the man’s words meant: he didn’t know how or why, but his cover had been blown. Someone was looking for him. And the chances were it wasn’t Interpol. He thought back
to the events of the last two days. He didn’t think that he had been followed but he couldn’t be sure. It was possible that he’d let his guard down – he hadn’t exactly been on top form recently. Perhaps Mackie had been right all along.

Logan knew it was time to leave. It wasn’t worth the risk of going to his room. There was a good chance someone might be waiting on the other side of the door for him. And whoever they might be, it was a fight he didn’t want to have, didn’t need to have. Not now anyway. ‘Know your enemy’ was an age-old rule; walking into a blind ambush was not the way to do things. Mackie could send someone else to recover his things, amongst which the only items of any importance were his IDs. Right now he just had to get out of there.

Logan took a step towards the man, crowding his space, towering over him. It had the desired effect. The man shrank and looked scared, probably not knowing what to expect from a man that Interpol were supposedly after. He took a step back, looking left and right as if hoping someone might come to his aid.

Logan took another two steps forward, his face only inches from the man’s.

‘What was the detective’s name?’ he asked, his tone terse. ‘The one who was asking about me.’

‘I … I, er, I don’t know. I don’t remember. He was English. It was my colleague who dealt with him.’

‘What did he want?’

‘I … er … he said he wanted to speak to you. He didn’t say why.’

‘He knew my name?’

‘No … that’s what he wanted to know. He wanted to know your name. He said he needed to speak to you.’

‘You
gave
him my
name
?’ Logan sizzled. ‘What did he look like?’

‘I … er, I don’t know. Your size I guess, but older. He was just dressed like a normal guy. Not in a uniform, I mean.’

‘Is that it?’ Logan said, leaning closer towards the man. The receptionist cowered away even further, opening and closing his mouth but not saying anything. Logan could see people starting to take notice. As incensed as he was, he couldn’t stand there all day questioning the guy. It was time to go. He turned and walked out of the hotel.

It was some comfort, at least, that whoever was looking for
him didn’t know who he really was. He’d used a cheap ruse to find out Logan’s name. Or at least his cover name. The only thing he must have known before that was what he looked like. Which probably meant he’d been followed at some point. The description he’d got was pretty useless, but he couldn’t do anything about that now.

Damn it,
he thought. He’d missed that he was being tailed in Las Vegas, and he’d missed again in Paris that someone was following him. How would he explain this to Mackie? The more determined he was to prove he was up to the job, the more things seemed to be going pear-shaped for him.

He stepped out into the open and, as casually as he could, began to walk away from the hotel in the opposite direction of the garage. He didn’t want to make it obvious that he was looking for someone following him. If he was being tailed, it was better to let whomever it was think he still had the upper hand.

As Logan walked, he recced the street outside the hotel as best as he could. There wasn’t anyone who matched the receptionist’s sparse description. But someone else caught his eye as a potential candidate: a man on the other side of the road, leaning against a lamppost and pretending to talk on his phone. It wasn’t the man the receptionist had referred to – this guy was squat, probably half a foot shorter than Logan. Even in his casual attire Logan could tell that the guy was well-built. He had a shaved head and a mean-looking face with Slavic features. He looked like a fighter. A pit-bull terrier. But if this guy was the tracker, he’d also let himself be caught too easily, so surveillance probably wasn’t his field of expertise. Logan’s guess was that he would be a hired gun for someone.

But why would anyone be following me at all
? Logan thought.

Logan carried on his walk away from the hotel, not looking behind him at all. At first he wasn’t sure whether the Slav had followed him or not. After about a hundred yards, Logan stopped. He rummaged in his pocket, put his head to the sky in exasperation and turned on his heels. He was no actor, but he thought he’d played the role well. Logan looked up and scanned the street as he began to walk back in the direction of the hotel. He spotted the Slav, still on the other side of the road, walking towards him. He was about twenty yards down from Logan.

As they crossed paths, Logan looked up, over to the other
side of the road. The Slav casually walked by, his head down. He didn’t slow in his step or make to change course at all, despite Logan now back-tracking on himself. But Logan didn’t buy it. This guy was definitely following him.

Now he just needed to decide what to do with him.