The Increment (25 page)

'But we've got enough, haven't we?' said Matt. 'We know about XP22. We know that Lacrierre imported it to this country, and sold it to the MOD. We know it was tested on British servicemen. We know some of them have gone crazy, a direct result of the medicine they were given. We know they are killing the men it was tested on to cover up what happened. What more do we need? Everything has fallen into place. We've cracked it.'

Ivan walked across the room, standing next to him. He held out a coffee, thrusting it into Mart's face. 'Take a good sniff,' he said. 'It's time you woke up and smelt some of this.'

'Meaning?' snapped Matt, suddenly filled with anger.

'Meaning you don't seem to have figured out what you are going to do with this information. The deeper you get into this, the more trouble you are in. So what's the plan now? Go to the police? They'll arrest you. Go to the Firm? They got you into this mess.'

'A newspaper, as I said before,' interrupted Eleanor. 'They could blow this scandal wide open.'

Ivan chuckled to himself, turning away. 'In a John Grisham book, maybe. Not in the real world. One sniff of this story, a newspaper would get itself shut down. Any journalist who knew even part of the story would be quietly disposed of. They're
deadly
serious about this, Matt. That's why the Increment is already on to you. This stuff is toxic. Anyone who touches it is dead.'

'A foreign newspaper,' persisted Eleanor.

'No,' said Ivan, with a shake of the head. 'You'll look like a nutty conspiracy theorist. They'll think you're raving mad. You've got to tie it all down.' He paused, looking directly at Matt and Eleanor. 'You have to find out who these accounts belong to. Right now they don't mean anything. Until you get that information, you don't have any way to convince anyone of your story.'

Matt was standing by the window, looking out on to the dingy block of council flats opposite. 'It's us against the world, Matt,' said Ivan, resting his hand on Matt's shoulder. 'If they were offering odds on this one down at William Hill, my money would have to be on the world.'

Matram looked down at the corpse. She had stopped breathing some minutes ago, the last breath silent and quiet as the anaesthetic sent her into a deep sleep, and as her heart slowed to a rate at which life could no longer be supported.

He cracked the back of his fist hard against the side of her cheek, his knuckles bruising the skin. 'You stupid bitch,' he muttered, his tone harsh and rasping. 'You should have told me where he was.' He turned round, looking at Trench and Snaddon. 'I want this body moved.'

Trench looked back at him coldly. 'We could leave it here,' he said. 'The apartment is empty. It could be days, even weeks, before anyone finds it.'

'Don't you understand anything, you damned fool?' he said, his voice rising. 'I want the bloody corpse discovered. Get it out of this building, and put it down in the middle of the nearest car park. Anywhere it's going to be found immediately.'

He looked down again at Gill, closing her eyes with his fingers. 'It's like a worm,' he said. 'The angler digs the poor little animal out of the dirt, kills it, sticks it on his line and casts it out into the river. All so he can use it to catch the fish.'

TWENTY

Eleanor had come into his room. She was wearing a white T-shirt, but beneath it he could see the outline of her breasts, soft and warm. 'I'm frightened,' she said. 'I've been trying to sleep, but I can't.'

Matt looked up towards the window. They were back in the first safe house now: moving every other day made them harder to track. Even now Ivan was off somewhere preparing another house for them. The first light of dawn was breaking through the frosted glass.

'Like we were saying, it's OK to be afraid,' he said. 'Fear is natural.'

He ran his fingers through her hair. Even though she was sweaty, she smelt good. Her skin was stretched and sleepy. Matt held her in his arms, feeling her breath on his chest. They hadn't made love yet, he felt guilty about Gill; but, he reasoned,
she left me.
Something was happening between them, they were drawing closer. Maybe it was just the chase, the sense of common danger. Maybe it was being thrown together in extreme circumstances. Matt couldn't be sure. But he was certain of one thing. Right now, there was no one he would rather be with.

We got into this together, and we'll get out of it together as well.

He slipped away from the bed, washing himself in the bathroom. There was no shower, just a piece of plastic hosing jammed into the tap from which a trickle of rusty water emerged. Only one razor had been left lying in the cupboard, and it had last been used several years ago: the blade was rusty and clogged with dirt, biting into Matt's skin as he dragged it across his face. He washed away the two smears of blood it left on his chin, and looked at the face staring at him from the mirror. He looked older. There were lines around his eyes, his skin was rough, his complexion blotchy, and his hair looked uncut and unkempt. This is taking its toll, he reflected.
If I don't finish this soon, it's going to finish me.

His jeans were hanging from the back of the chair, his polo shirt next to them. Matt started to slip them on. The mobile in his pocket was ringing. He looked at the machine curiously. It wasn't his normal Nokia: he'd chucked that away since it could be used to track him down. It was a cheap Motorola. Ivan was supplying him with a new one every day to reduce the chances of detection, stolen and fitted with a new SIM card, with a pay-as-you-go account issued in a false name. The phone was safe to carry around, and only Ivan had the number.

Matt picked up the phone, punching the green answer button. 'Matt,' said Ivan. Then there was a pause on the line. 'I just heard from Damien. It's about Gill.'

'What is it?' said Matt quickly.

Another pause. That fateful hesitation Matt had learnt about in the regiment. The delay the Ruperts employ before they tell a mother or a wife or a sister of the death of a man.

'She's dead.'

Matt buried his face in his hand. It had been weeks now since he'd heard from Gill. After that argument back in Marbella, she walked out of his life in a way he'd never imagined possible. One minute they had been about to get married. The next minute she was gone. And all that had come between them was Guy Abbott and his fucking job.

Matt slammed his fist against the wall, shaking loose a tiny cloud of dust.
If I'm in any way responsible for her death, I'll never forgive myself.

'Where?' said Matt. 'How?'

'Matt, you have to stay calm,' said Ivan.

'I need to see her.'

'No,' said Ivan, raising his tone. 'It's too dangerous. You mustn't go anywhere where they might find you.'

'Just tell me where she is,' snapped Matt, his voice rising.

The phone line was dead. Matt hurled it across the room, pulling on the rest of his clothes. His head was burning with a hundred different emotions. Sorrow, regret, confusion and despair were all mixing together in a lethal cocktail. But one emotion was trumping all of them.
Anger.

A line has been crossed. This is a different country we've moved into. Bringing them to justice is not enough.
Now I take my revenge in the reddest blood. Or I die trying.

Matram leant back against the table of the Travelodge. He was chewing on what the front desk described as a 'breakfast selection buffet'. That struck him as a rather grand description for a plastic tray with a rubbery croissant, a carton of processed orange juice and a tub of sweet strawberry yogurt. Still, it was food that would get them through another day.

'This is our moment,' he said, looking out at the Increment. 'The prey is about to fall into our hands.'

Eight faces, silent and passive, looked back at him and nodded. First thing this morning, he had called the other six back from around the country. Today, he sensed, he needed all his people right here. A good general, he judged, ruled by instinct as much as reason: and right now his instincts were telling him that the enemy was closer at hand than he could have imagined.
The bait was about to be taken.

A quote from General Patton, the American commander in Europe during the Second World War, and Matram's most revered military hero, was rattling through his mind.
A good plan violently executed now is better than a perfect plan next week.

'Last night, the offices of Eduardo Lacrierre, the chief executive of the pharmaceutical company Tocah, were broken into,' started Matram, looking down at the unit. 'A secretary was found unconscious there this morning, after she interrupted an intruder last night.' He paused. 'I believe that must have been our targets, Browning and Blackman.' Matram ground his fists together. 'I want them found, and I want them found now.'

The unit remained silent, as Matram walked slowly across the room and stood looking out of the window. In the regiment, the rule was that all the men, whether they were squaddies or Ruperts, were equal. When you were out on a job, everyone's voice carried the same weight. That didn't apply in the Increment. It was Matram's unit, and when he told you to do something, you obeyed.

'The woman we took yesterday,' Matram continued. 'That was Browning's fiancee. I'm going to make the assumption that he's heard of her death. And he's going to want to see her, that's the kind of man he is.'

Matt walked silently by himself through Plumstead Common. It was still early in the morning, but the sun was already shining, and the light breeze blowing in from the west was doing nothing to take the heat out of the air. Another scorching day.

In the distance, he could see two mothers playing with their children. The kids were stripped down to their shorts, screaming and splashing water over each other. Matt watched them for a few minutes.
One day I always imagined Gill and I would settle down and have a kid or two. I never thought about it much, but that was what I expected for the future. So long as I didn't get killed in some miserable foreign war, we would eventually be together.

And now she's dead. And that future has turned into ashes and dust.

He could see Damien a hundred yards distant, sitting by himself on a park bench. His shoulders were hunched, and his head bowed, looking intently at the ground. Matt could feel his pace slowing, reluctant to travel the last few yards. Damien was Gill's brother, and Matt's oldest friend: like many siblings, although they looked different, he and Gill had the same voices and mannerisms. Matt and Damien had spent their childhoods together, running in and out of each other's houses. This had been the park where they would come and play, close enough to their houses for them to be allowed out by themselves. There had been countless different wars played out on this turf, and there was a hundred different tunnels, rat runs and mazes they had used as boys when they were escaping from irate policemen, park wardens, bus conductors and ice-cream van drivers.

And although Damien had become a villain while Matt went off to join the army, that had never stood between them: they were both men who fought for a living, and understood that their trade had its own rules. Matt had no closer friend, nor anyone he could rely on more completely. When he and Gill had become engaged, they were about to become brothers-in-law, yet they had been brothers in spirit all their lives.
And now this.

'What happened?' asked Matt, sitting down on the bench next to Damien.

'Her body was found first thing this morning,' said Damien. His voice was slow and measured, but Matt could hear the cracks in it. 'On Putney Heath. It was taken to the mortuary, and the police have been examining it there. They called me, and I went to see her, to identify the body.' He paused, choking back the words. 'No obvious cause of death. There was some bruising around her cheeks, like someone had been slapping her. But that didn't kill her. Right now, nobody can say what it was.'

Matt's eyes narrowed, looking out across the park. The mums were still playing with their kids in the distance, and he could see a couple out walking their dog. The man was shouting something at the animal, but it didn't seem to be responding: a golden spaniel, it kept bounding on ahead of them. A jogger, the sweat pouring from his face, was just turning the corner, panting along the pathway towards them. 'Are you alone, Damien?' he hissed. 'Are you sure nobody saw you come here?'

Suddenly, Matt could feel Damien's hands around his throat. His knuckles were digging into his skin, and he could feel the supply of oxygen to his brain starting to slow as the pressure on his windpipe increased. 'What the fuck are you up to, Matt?' shouted Damien, his face red with anger. 'Gill's dead, you're sneaking around London like a man on the run. What the fuck's going on?'

His hands broke free from Matt's neck when he could see that he was not fighting back. Matt remained silent.

'You got her involved in another of your bloody moneymaking schemes, didn't you?' shouted Damien.

'I'm in a mess, Damien. Probably the worst mess I've ever been in.'

'Tell me about it.'

Matt started to talk. He began with Abbott, the job in the Ukraine, then everything that had happened since then, up to the house in Hammersmith where he and Eleanor were hiding. The words came out slowly and painfully, as if Matt were frightened of them himself. When he had finished, he put out an arm, resting it on Damien's shoulder. 'I'm up against the Increment. And you want my guess? I reckon they took Gill because they thought she might lead them to me.'

Matt looked out across the park. The couple with the dog were walking back across the park. The man was still snapping at the animal, the women at his side looked furtively over her shoulder at them. Matt glanced across at Damien, noticing that he too was observing the couple.

'See those two with the dog?' started Matt.

Damien nodded. 'Yes . . . that dog doesn't know who the fuck they are.'

'A decoy,' whispered Matt. 'I thought you said you weren't followed?'

Damien shook his head. 'I didn't realise I would be up against the regiment's finest,' he said bitterly.

Matt hesitated. It was clear now. Gill had been squeezed for information, and when she hadn't given them any, they'd killed her and dumped her body. They knew it would be found. They knew Damien would collect the body, and they knew he would be in touch with Matt. All they had to do was follow him.

You could follow it like the moves on a chessboard. Straight from the murder manual of Jack Matram.

They were in open space. At least two people, the two mothers with their children, could see them – that gave them some cover. He couldn't be certain what rules of engagement the Increment had been given, but the chances were they would avoid a firefight on open ground.

'The sewer,' said Damien.

Matt nodded.

'Start walking,' said Damien.

Matt stood up. He glanced again in the direction of the couple. They were thirty yards across the common. The man was about thirty, with blond hair, and cold, grey eyes. The woman was maybe slightly older, with short dark hair. The dog was still bounding ahead of them, still ignoring their commands.

'I'm going to buy you five seconds,' whispered Damien. 'After that, you're on your own.'

Aged eight or nine, Matt, Damien and some of their mates used to throw eggs at passing buses. They did it every afternoon on the way back from school. Once, the driver stopped, left the bus and started chasing after them. Matt and Damien had escaped, diving into an old disused sewer half a mile across the common that came up behind a garage next to the high street.

That was a quarter of a century ago, reflected Matt.
Would the tunnel still be there?

Matt tensed himself. In his mind, he had a map of the distance between here and the safe house: it was at least ten miles back to Hammersmith. Eleanor would still be there, alone. If he could just break free of them, he could get to her and move on. Depends how fast I can move, he told himself.
And whether fate is on my side.

Damien whistled to the dog. From about thirty yards distant, its ears pricked up, and it started running towards him. From their childhood, Matt could recall how Damien had always been good with dogs. He knew the signals and the whistles that would make each breed run towards him. Suddenly, he realised what Damien was doing. It was time to make the break.