The Operative (38 page)

The elevator arrived and Hobart stepped inside, lost in thought. He had to assume for now that Stratton had more explosives – they appeared to be his preferred weapon. Skender would need to be convinced that Stratton could take him out, perhaps with a demonstration of some kind. That was what Hobart would do. But there he stopped himself, suddenly seeing the futility of trying to put himself in this Brit’s shoes when he and Hobart were completely different animals. Hobart could never have conceived hits like those in the court cells or the restaurant, for instance. Those had been conceived by the mind of a person greatly experienced in that world, which made Hobart wonder what kind of an SIS operative Stratton was. In the CIA, for instance, there were two categories of front-line field agents: one was intelligence gatherer, the other direct-action operative and some, the best of them, could play either part. Hobart was convinced of one thing. He was probably going to need an adviser, someone who could shed some light on Stratton’s options. The question was, where would he find such an operator?

The elevator doors opened and Hobart stepped out into the lobby and through to the alleyway where his car was parked. His plan for the time being would be to carry on with the search routine and hope either that they got lucky or that Stratton got sloppy. But it looked as if it was anyway going to be a case of waiting for the man’s next move. That wasn’t an unusual situation in
Hobart’s line of work but there was another reason why he would not rush to shift heaven and earth to find the Brit agent. The real victim in all this now was the kid: Hobart had to admit, though he would never say as much to anyone else, that Stratton might well be the boy’s only chance.

Stratton, wearing a baseball jacket and cap, watched Skender’s new building complex from inside a small office-block entranceway across the street. For almost an hour he had studied the place from every angle, circling the block and observing the comings and goings of workers, especially Skender’s security team. Skender himself had arrived a few minutes after Stratton had begun his surveillance, turning up in his cavalcade surrounded by bodyguards like some visiting state dignitary, and Cano had come out of the building with yet more guards to escort his boss inside.

The surrounding security fence had been removed and the landscaping, a complex design of lawns, flower beds, trees and fountains, was almost complete. The entire block was ringed by new steel street lamps with added spotlights on top of each one to illuminate the building at night. The finishing touches to the curving drive that led from the boulevard to the entrance were being made. A crane was slowly positioning a large crate in the centre of the concourse, directly in front of the ornate entrance – some kind of statue, Stratton suspected – while a handful of helmeted engineers carefully supervised its touchdown, inch by inch.

The place was very much a fortress, with guards covering every entry point including a barrier to the underground parking. Adding up all the men Stratton had seen on duty on the first-floor balconies, at various windows and emergency exits, the main entrance, the garage and doing roving patrols – plus another dozen to allow for those he could not see – there were around fifty.
Then, working on the assumption that they did three eight-hour shifts per day the total came to a hundred and fifty. Assuming one shift was on standby or stand-down inside the premises Stratton felt that a fair estimate of security manpower would be about a hundred men at any one time. Quite the small army.

Stratton reviewed his objectives in order of priority once again in the hope that doing so would help to inspire a so far uninspired plan. The final outcome obviously had to be getting Josh back to England alive. To achieve that Skender had to believe that his own life was at stake if he did not hand over Josh. To convince the Albanian of that was the hard part. A demonstration of intent could be useful but Stratton had no time to waste and he might get only one shot. Another option was to find something that Skender valued as much as his own life but unless Stratton could figure out what that was, or even if there was such a thing, he was still at the starting block. Meeting Skender face to face was an option but reaching him and then getting away after looked like too much of a risk.

Stratton told himself to step back and take a completely new look at matters. In the meantime he decided to use another essential tool in any operation of this nature: psy-ops.

A payphone hung on the wall of the lobby and Stratton walked over to it. He took his notebook from a pocket, flicked to a page of names and numbers, inserted some coins into the slot and dialled a number.

Cano was in the small kitchen on the top floor of Skender’s business centre pouring himself a coffee when his cellphone rang. He took it out of his pocket, hit the receive button and put it to his ear. ‘Yeah.’

‘Vleshek? This is Stratton.’

Cano was about to pour some milk into the cup and paused. ‘How’d you get this number?’

‘I’m full of surprises. I know a lot about you, for instance. Your real name is Dren Cano.’

Cano put down the carton of milk. He struggled to contain his shock at hearing his real name on the lips of another man besides his boss for the first time in ten years.

‘I could give that information to the police and you’d end up in a cell in the Hague waiting for your war-crimes trial, but I’m not going to,’ Stratton went on. ‘I’ll tell you what the deal is, Cano. You hand the boy over to the police or take him back to the child-protection centre and I’ll leave you alive. If you don’t it’s war.’

‘That right? You need an army to go to war.’

‘I work alone. The kind of war I have in mind, you’re already outnumbered.’

Cano closed the kitchen door and kept his voice low although the anger in it was plain to hear. ‘Now you listen to me, you piece a’ shit. You can take your threats and shove ’em up your ass. I’ll tell you what the deal is. Your life for the kid’s. It’s as simple as that. I’m gonna give you a couple days to get your things in order, say your goodbyes, and then you call me. If I don’t hear from you, you can say goodbye to the boy. I’ll personally slit his throat and sell his organs. And that bitch you were with the other night – I’ll fuck her too. There’s no negotiation. Oh, and one more thing. If anything happens to me, the kid dies anyway. The next time I hear from you, you better be letting me know where I can send the boys to pick you up. Now get lost.’

Cano disconnected from the call and screwed his solitary eye shut. The empty socket of the lost one was beginning to throb beneath its silk patch. He reached for his painkillers and popped several in his mouth. But Cano had worries apart from his physical pain. The first was what would happen if the Englishman did not take the deal. The hits on Bufi and Cano’s brother had been the best that Cano had ever seen and the guy had escaped his
clutches twice now. Hobart was looking for Stratton, which might play in Cano’s favour but the bottom line was that Cano wanted Stratton dead. Cano held the ace, of course – the kid – but he had no plan. What bothered him was that Stratton had to make the next move and Cano strongly doubted that he would simply hand himself over. Nor did Cano know if Stratton was willing to sacrifice himself or even the boy to get even.

Cano wondered if he should approach Skender with the problem. But there were greater dangers for Cano in that direction, the most obvious one being that Skender did not know that Cano had kidnapped the boy and would be none too pleased if he found out. Cano remained hopeful that he could wind up this business without Skender discovering what his henchman had done.

Cano was treading a fine line and was feeling dangerously rattled.

Stratton replaced the phone and walked back to the window to look up at the top of the pyramid. He did not know whether he had gotten to Cano and he was not entirely confident that he had. But at least it set the goalposts firmly in place, for now at least. Stratton either turned himself in, whereupon both he and Josh would be executed and possibly Vicky too, or he went on the offensive. With the police now probably looking for him and with no idea yet what he was going to do this was beginning to look like an impossible task. But that was because he didn’t know enough about his enemy. The more he could learn, the better the chances were of finding a chink in Skender’s armour.

As Stratton stepped out of the building, pulling his baseball cap low over his eyes, he saw a man walking from one of the site contractors’ portable cabins on the edge of the square as a crane moved into position, getting ready to lift it onto the back of a truck. The man, who was wearing a shiny white hard hat, was
carrying several large tubes and rolls of paper. He placed them inside a car parked on the street and went back to the portable cabin.

Stratton didn’t waste a second. He crossed the road, went to the car and looked inside. As he suspected, the rolls of paper were construction blueprints. After a quick glance to make sure that the man had gone back into the cabin, Stratton opened the car door, removed them and walked briskly away without looking back.

Vicky walked down the pathway from the child-protection centre entrance, out of the gate and along the empty street towards her car around the corner. As she approached it, reaching for the lock with the key, she stopped and looked up. Standing across the road watching her was Stratton.

Vicky was a little shocked. She’d expected never to see him again and did not know what to say or how to react. Then she looked down, ignoring him, and opened her car door.

‘Vicky – I need to talk to you,’ Stratton said as he crossed the road.

She stopped and watched him walk around the back of her car and step onto the sidewalk to face her. ‘I spent two hours with the FBI today. You’re wanted for two murders,’ she said.

‘Those were the men who killed Sally.’

‘My God,’ Vicky said, putting a hand to her brow. ‘Despite all that has happened I somehow hoped they were wrong. How stupid does that make me? Three men died in that car you blew up. Did you know that?’

‘They came to kill me.’

‘You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you? You’re crazy, John. You’re certifiable. We have a process of law in this country.’

‘Not for everyone. If you knew the whole story you’d understand.’

‘I don’t think so, John. There is no way I am ever going to condone murder, even for revenge. Josh’s kidnapping is your fault, John.’

‘I know.’

Vicky could see Stratton’s pain and was unable to stop a sudden feeling of sympathy for him.

‘Now I have to put it right,’ he said.

‘How are you going to do that?’

‘Give them what they want.’

‘You?’

‘Yes.’

‘Go to the FBI, John. There has to be a way to work this out.’

‘You don’t know these people. They want their revenge and they’ll have it one way or another. If I go to the Feds I’m out of it. I’ll get locked up. They’ll never let Josh go, anyway. They’ll kill him even if they have me. It’s a mess, Vicky. I came here to tell you I’m sorry for everything – for you, for Josh, maybe for us too.’

Vicky thought she had dealt with this after their last meeting. But her emotions welled up and she was unable to beat them back.

‘We won’t see each other again,’ Stratton said. ‘It hurts me to say that.’

She blinked hard to stop the tears.

‘Bye,’ Stratton said before turning away and walking up the street.

‘John!’ she called out, a part of her wanting him to come back and talk to her. But deep down she knew that it was futile. He needed help, which was what she was supposed to be good at, but this was beyond anything she had ever experienced before. She had been ready to give herself to him, something that was so very difficult for her to do. Stratton had released something in her. A desire she had not felt for anyone in a long time. She had even daydreamed of going back to England with him, fantasised about waking up with him in his home. It seemed obvious that Stratton would adopt Josh and she would play the role of the
boy’s mother. It was an idyllic prospect: an instant family, a man, a son, a purpose – and then suddenly it was all shattered.

Vicky watched Stratton walk away until he disappeared around a corner. Then she climbed into her car and, unable to drive for the moment, sat there feeling a terrible sorrow for Stratton, for Josh and for herself.

Stratton heard Vicky call his name but chose not to respond. Any further conversation with her would have been pointless and, frankly, painful. He liked her, more than he’d imagined he could have when they’d first met, but if their worlds had been far apart that day they were out of sight of each other now.

He walked around the corner and crossed the road to an old workhorse of a GM pick-up truck parked in the quiet residential street. The grey paintwork was chipped in places, revealing patches of rust and its original fire-engine red. Storage cabinets ran along both sides with rails on top connected by crossbars for ladders. Stratton had seen it advertised in a local newspaper. Its previous owner was an old independent roofing contractor in Mar Vista who’d been happy to announce that he had finally given up hauling all the crap around himself after getting wise to subcontracting and buying himself a used but newer and smaller Toyota pick-up. From now on the only thing that he was going to haul up ladders and onto roofs was his own ass to inspect the work of others.