The Double Tap (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (26 page)

       
Lynch grabbed the passenger’s hair with both hands and yanked him through the window. He was struggling wildly so Lynch kicked him in the ribs, hard. The man was still holding the envelope and in his other hand was a pistol. Lynch grabbed at the weapon and wrestled it out of the man’s grasp. He pointed it at the back of the man’s neck and fired. The explosion echoed from the row of houses bordering the road. Lynch knew the police would arrive within minutes, maybe sooner.

       
Lynch swung around to face the van. The driver had a pistol in his hands and he pulled the trigger, gritting his teeth as he fired. To Lynch’s amazement, nothing happened. ‘Shit!’ screamed the driver and Lynch realised with a feeling of satisfaction that the man had left the safety on. Lynch fired his own weapon and the driver slumped back, a gaping red hole where his nose had been.

       
The back doors of the van crashed open. Lynch leaned inside the passenger window. One of the men was standing silhouetted by a street lamp, about to jump down. Lynch shot him in the back then threw himself to the ground, rolling to the side as the fourth man appeared at the side of the van, bent double with a Kalashnikov in his arms. The Kalashnikov exploded, the bullets spraying across the side of the van, thudding through the metal as if it were cardboard. Before the man could lower his aim, Lynch put a bullet in his throat. The man whirled around and dropped the assault rifle, his hands clutching at his neck. His mouth opened and closed but no words came out. Blood trickled from between his teeth. Lynch got to his feet. The man’s eyes glazed over and he fell to his knees, gurgling. Lynch walked past him and checked the back of the van. The man there was dead, lying face down on the metal floor. Lynch went through his pockets and pulled out his wallet.

       
In the distance he heard a siren. He ran around to the driver’s side of the van. The driver was covered in blood and there was a smear of brain matter and bone fragments across the windscreen and a strong smell of urine. Lynch prised the gun from the dead man’s fingers and patted down his bloodstained jacket until he found his wallet in an inside pocket. The siren was getting louder and Lynch heard shouts from the houses which overlooked the road. He ran down the pavement, vaulted over the railings and onto the towpath, escaping into the darkness.

Cramer’s chest heaved and he threw up, the yellow vomit splashing over the wooden toilet seat and dribbling down into the bowl. He groaned. His head was throbbing, his stomach felt on fire. He massaged his temples and spat, trying to get the bitter taste out of his mouth. As the waves of nausea subsided he struggled to his feet and drank from the cold tap, swilling the water around his mouth and then spitting it out.

       
There was a timid knock on the bedroom door. ‘Yeah, wait a minute,’ he called. He cleaned his teeth, using lots of toothpaste to get rid of the lingering bitterness. He splashed cold water over his face and then wiped the toilet seat with a piece of tissue and flushed it.

       
When he opened the door, Su-ming was waiting there. ‘Is there something wrong?’ she asked.

       
Oh yes, thought Cramer, there’s something very wrong. There’s a cancer growing in my guts and there’s an assassin out there with a bullet with my name on it, and if one of them doesn’t kill me soon I’m feeling so much pain that I’ll be putting a gun in my mouth and pulling the trigger myself. ‘I’m fine,’ he said.

       
‘Mr Vander Mayer wants to speak to us,’ she said.

       
‘He’s here?’

       
‘No. We have to telephone him.’

       
‘The Colonel knows about this?’

       
‘Mr Vander Mayer has already spoken to him.’

       
Cramer leant against the door frame. He felt weak but he didn’t want Su-ming to know how ill he was. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

       
‘I think Mr  Vander Mayer wants to tell you himself, but it’s about a meeting he wants you to have the day after tomorrow.’

       
‘In London?’

       
Su-ming nodded. ‘Are you sure nothing’s wrong?’

       
Cramer straightened up. ‘Which phone?’ he asked.

       
‘The Colonel’s study.’ She turned and walked down the corridor. Cramer stood and watched her go, then followed her downstairs.

       
The only light on in the study was a green-shaded desk lamp which illuminated the desk and little else. The Colonel was sitting behind the desk, a cellular telephone in front of him.

       
‘I thought he was supposed to keep his head down until this was over,’ said Cramer.

       
‘Something came up.’

       
‘Something so important that he thinks it’s worth risking his life?’

       
The Colonel nodded in agreement. ‘I told him, but he insists. And we do need his goodwill for this to work.’

       
‘His goodwill? There’s a contract out on his life.’

       
‘He says that unless you and Su-ming meet this man, he’ll come over himself. And if he appears on the scene, the whole thing’s dead in the water.’

       
Cramer sat down in one of the armchairs. ‘This man I’m supposed to meet, who is he?’

       
‘All Vander Mayer would say is that he’s a Russian with something to sell.’

       
‘And I’m supposed to negotiate with this guy? But I don’t know anything about Vander Mayer’s business.’

       
‘Which is why he wants to brief you first.’ He handed the phone to Su-ming.

       
She tapped in a succession of numbers and held it to her ear. Vander Mayer answered within seconds. ‘It’s me,’ said Su-ming. She listened intently. ‘Yes,’ she said, looking at the Colonel. ‘Yes,’ she repeated. She lowered the phone. ‘Mr  Vander Mayer asks if we could have this conversation in private.’

       
The Colonel got to his feet. He picked up his walking stick and tapped it on the wooden floor. He looked as if he was going to argue, but he walked stiffly to the door and let himself out. ‘Okay,’ Su-ming said into the phone. She listened again for what seemed to be several minutes, nodding as she held the phone to her ear. ‘Okay, I’ll put him on,’ she said eventually. She walked over to Cramer and gave him the phone.

       
‘Yeah,’ said Cramer, laconically.

       
‘Mike? Is it okay if I call you Mike?’

       
‘Sure,’ said Cramer. There was a distinct delay on the transmission and he could hear a faint echo of his own voice as he spoke. It was distracting and he concentrated hard.

       
‘Okay, Mike, has your boss told you what’s happening?’ His voice was over-friendly, the sort of cheerful bonhomie used by double-glazing salesmen and television evangelists. The accent was American, from one of the southern States, Cramer figured. The vowels were long and drawn out and there was a laziness about the voice, as if it was too much of an effort to talk quickly. It was the sort of voice that Cramer could tire of very quickly, he decided.

       
‘You want me to meet a Russian, that’s all I know.’

       
‘Okay, great. His name is Tarlanov. He speaks hardly any English but Su-ming is fluent in Russian.’ Cramer raised his eyebrows in surprise. He would have expected her to be able to speak Oriental languages, but fluency in Russian was an unexpected talent. ‘Tarlanov will have something for you, a sample of a chemical I’m interested in buying. Less than a kilo in weight, it’ll be sealed in a metal flask. I want you to look after it for me until I can get to London.’

       
‘What’s in the flask?’

       
There was a pause and all Cramer could hear was a series of clicks and faint whistles. ‘How much are you being paid for this job, Mike?’ Vander Mayer asked eventually.

       
‘What?’ asked Cramer, taken off guard by the direct question.

       
‘You’re being paid for this, right?’

       
Cramer realised that he’d never discussed money with the Colonel. When the job had been offered, it had been the last thing on his mind. Even when he’d been serving with the regiment, he’d never been concerned about how much he was being paid and under his present circumstances he hadn’t given it a second thought. ‘I’m not doing this for money,’ he said.

       
‘You’re doing it out of the goodness of your own heart, is that it?’

       
‘I was asked to help.’

       
‘You’re putting your life on the line, that’s what you’re doing. It seems only fair that you should be well paid for that.’

       
‘What’s your point, Mr  Vander Mayer?’

       
‘Andrew. Call me Andrew. Seeing that you’re taking my place, it only seems fair that we’re on first name terms.’

       
‘What’s your point, Andrew?’

       
‘The point is that I’m willing to offer you a substantial fee for your help. Shall we say a quarter of a million dollars?’

       
Cramer caught his breath. ‘For what?’

       
‘I want you to work for me. I want you to see this man Tarlanov and to take what it is he gives you. But I also want your discretion.’

       
‘You want to buy my silence, is that it?’ Su-ming looked at him, a worried frown on her face.

       
Vander Mayer chuckled softly. ‘You’re not a man to beat around the bush, are you, Mike? All right, yes; I don’t want you telling anyone else about my business. You’re in a very privileged position, you’re going to be seeing and hearing things of a very confidential nature, things that a lot of my competitors would dearly love to know.’

       
‘Look, Mr Vander Mayer, I’m here to do one thing, and one thing only, and that’s to trap the man who’s been paid to kill you. As soon as he’s taken care of, it’s over. Paying me a quarter of a million dollars isn’t going to affect the way I do my job one way or the other. And I’m going to have to know what’s in this container you want me to take from Tarlanov.’

       
‘I’d rather keep that confidential,’ said Vander Mayer. ‘And please, Mike, call me Andrew.’

       
‘I don’t see how you expect me to meet this man if I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to be taking from him.’

       
‘Su-ming will handle the conversation. All Tarlanov wants is to see a man called Vander Mayer in person. There’s a lot of con men in this business, Mike, and he insists on a face to face meeting. But he’s not going to have much to say at this stage, he’s just giving me a sample to test and some documentation to back it up. If the sample is what he says it is, I’ll follow it up directly.’

       
‘So there’s nothing you want me to ask him?’

       
‘Su-ming will ask the questions.’

       
‘Won’t that seem a little strange, like the tail wagging the dog?’

       
‘Not if Tarlanov’s English is as bad as I think it is.’

       
‘And what if it isn’t? What if he understands more than you think?’

       
‘Su-ming will be able to handle it, Mike, don’t worry. Just play your part. Be polite, offer him a drink, shake his hand, then get him the hell out of my office.’

       
‘Is it dangerous?’

       
‘Is what dangerous?’

       
‘The material he’s giving me. Are there any special precautions I should take?’

       
Vander Mayer chuckled again. ‘You’re fishing, Mike. Just accept the sample and take it back to the apartment. There’s a safe in the study, Su-ming has the combination. Put the material in the safe along with any documentation he gives you. Do that for me, don’t ask any questions, respect my privacy, and you’ll receive a quarter of a million dollars when this is over. Now, would you put Su-ming back on, please?’

       
Cramer took the portable phone from his ear and stared at it for a few seconds, shaking his head in astonishment, almost unable to believe that a man he’d never met was offering to give him a small fortune for no apparent reason. He could only imagine how rich Vander Mayer must be to be able to offer such a sum without a second thought.

       
‘Cramer?’ said Su-ming, holding out her hand for the phone.

       
Cramer shook his head to clear it. ‘What? Oh, yeah, he wants a word with you.’

       
He gave her the phone. She walked to the far side of the study as if afraid that he might overhear. She stood by the curtained window, nodding into the phone as she spoke. Cramer could only hear her last few words before she cut the connection. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper, ‘I love you, too.’

       
The phrase stuck in Cramer’s mind long after he’d got back to his bedroom. She’d said it without feeling, flat and devoid of emotion, as if Vander Mayer was forcing her to say the words.

Paulie Quinn sat on his mattress with his back to his wall, his arms wrapped around his knees, hugging them to his chest. He was praying, saying the Lord’s Prayer over and over again, but there was no solace in the words. Tears streamed down his face. He would never see his mother again, he knew that. He’d never leave the cell. He hadn’t told them anything, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. It wasn’t that they were violent, they hadn’t beaten him or even threatened to hurt him. They just kept repeating the same questions again and again, returning him to his cell when they wanted to rest but denying him the sanctuary of sleep. He knew that they wouldn’t let him go until he’d told them everything. He stared up at the lights, then at the locked door. There was only one way to escape. One way out.