The Payback (12 page)

O’Riordan’s study was small and dark, even after I’d flicked on the light, with brimming bookshelves surrounding a small, impeccably tidy desk with a PC on it, a couple of trays, and an A4-sized desk diary. The diary was open to Thursday and Friday, and was a mess of doodles, telephone numbers, and barely legible notes, with nothing of any obvious interest to the untrained eye.

But when I flicked overleaf to Saturday and Sunday, something interesting caught my attention. O’Riordan hadn’t had a chance to deface the pages with his doodling, and Saturday was entirely blank. Except for an entry at three p.m. that afternoon.

It was only three words long, and I had to stare at it for close to half a minute before I could finally decipher those words. As far as I could tell, they read Cheeseman/Omar Salic. Clearly Salic was a person, and my guess was that O’Riordan was supposed to be
having a meeting with him. Cheeseman could have been the venue, or possibly the name of someone else. But given the timing of the meeting, an hour after my deadline, I knew it had to be important.

I had no idea what I was going to do with the information, but I live by the philosophy that you can never have too much of it, so I ripped out the page, as well as the previous one, and pushed them into my back pocket.

Then, with a sigh, I pulled out my lighter and set fire to the diary. As the flames picked up, I threw it in the wastepaper basket, and added a couple of books. I felt bad for O’Riordan’s wife. Not only had I killed her husband, I’d unwittingly exposed his affair with another man, and now I was going to burn down her house into the bargain.

Dawn was just beginning to break in the east as I slipped out of the front gate and headed back through the still sleeping streets in the direction of the guesthouse, leaving behind only corpses and shattered lives.

It really was a shitty business I was in.

When O’Riordan didn’t pick up, Tina left a message asking him to call her back urgently.

Next she called the dedicated story line of the
Manila Post
and eventually managed to get the young reporter who took the call to give her O’Riordan’s home number, even though it was clear she didn’t have a story to trade. But O’Riordan wasn’t answering that either, although she let it ring and ring.

She told herself there was probably a perfectly simple explanation why she couldn’t get hold of him, but in the light of the events of the last forty-eight hours, she was paranoid enough to check all the Philippines-based English-language news websites for any reports of his death. The problem was, she had to speak to O’Riordan urgently. He was the key, not only to Nick Penny’s death, but also to finally bringing to justice the man she’d been after for so many years now. The link she’d discovered between Nick and Paul Wise was still tenuous, and it would require a lot more legwork, but it was definitely Wise’s Achilles heel. Why else would he have killed Nick?

Tina knew immediately what she had to do. It was a big move – reckless, some would have said – but then she’d always been impulsive. In the past it had been both a strength and a weakness, and it had almost got her killed on more than one occasion. But she was finally on to something. And she owed it to all those Wise had murdered – including John Gallan, the man she’d been in love with, and the man she still thought about too many times, even now, six years on – to bring him to justice, whatever it cost.

Ten minutes later she’d set up a new, secure hotmail account so that she could send and receive emails without them being tracked, and ten minutes after that she’d done what she needed to do.

Taking a deep breath, she got up from her father’s desk, feeling stiff from being bent over the laptop for so long, and walked outside for a cigarette. It was nearly eleven and the air was cold and damp as she stood on the porch, looking out over the beautifully tended back lawn where she’d often played as a young child. Good days – almost forgotten now. She’d been a happy kid, brought up in a happy, stable family unit. She’d done well in school, had indulged in only the most minor of teenage rebellions (smoking and a single fumbled bout of under-age sex the worst of them), and had gained decent A levels. University and a year’s backpacking round South East Asia and Australia had followed. At that time, the world had truly been her oyster. The economy was doing well, there were plenty of jobs and money around. She could have done anything. Anything at all.

Yet she’d made the decision to join the police. Her parents had been shocked. It wasn’t what they’d hoped for their bright, attractive daughter, but Tina had brushed aside their concerns. She hadn’t wanted to work in an office. She’d wanted a job with variety, where she’d have a chance to actually do something useful, and have some excitement too.

Well, she’d had more than her fair share of that.

She thought back to what had happened earlier that evening, to those moments struggling in her bath while she’d been held underwater, only seconds away from unconsciousness, and death . . .

The back door opened behind her and she jumped, swinging round fast. Her mother stood in the doorway in her dressing gown, ready for bed.

‘Tina, are you OK?’ she asked uncertainly.

Tina nodded, giving her mother a reassuring smile. ‘I’m fine. You scared me, that’s all.’

‘I was just coming to say goodnight. Your father and I were also wondering if you’d like to stay for lunch on Sunday? We could invite Phil and Wendy and the children over, have a proper family get-together?’

‘Sorry, Mum, but I’ve got to be going early in the morning. I’ve booked a holiday.’

Her mother looked shocked. ‘What? Just now?’

‘You can do anything on the internet these days. I’m due a lot of leave, so I thought I’d take a week to get away from this weather.’

‘But, where are you going?’

‘Thailand,’ Tina lied, knowing her mother would only worry if she knew she was going to Manila. ‘It was a last-minute deal. I’m booked on tomorrow morning’s flight.’

From behind the trees at the back of the garden, Nargen watched the two women talking. He waited until they’d both turned and gone back inside, having heard all he needed to hear, then slipped over the wall and walked the short distance to the car.

‘So, do we take the bitch out?’ asked Tumanov with barely disguised excitement as Nargen climbed inside.

‘It’s not our decision,’ Nargen told him firmly. ‘Now drive.’

Five minutes later they were outside a public phone box on the edge of a nearby village. Nargen called the number he’d been given at the beginning of the job, leaving a short message on the voicemail, then replaced the receiver.

Two minutes after that, the payphone rang.

‘We’ve located her,’ said Nargen into the receiver. ‘She’s currently staying at her parents’ house, and they are both in residence. She’s also made the connection from the phone records.’

‘Do you know what she intends to do about it?’

‘Yes. She’s going to Manila, flying out of Heathrow tomorrow
morning. I don’t know the flight number or the airline yet but we’ll be able to find out.’

‘Where’s she staying in Manila?’

‘That information may be harder to gather. She’s using a different email address for her booking. One we haven’t got access to.’

There was a pause as the caller digested this information.

‘Do you want us to go in?’ Nargen asked. ‘We could neutralize the parents as well. It will be no problem. They will all be asleep shortly.’

The caller was silent for a few moments. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘It will only cause problems for our people. It will be much easier to deal with her in Manila. She will be vulnerable there, and it won’t matter so much how she dies.’ The caller chuckled – an unpleasant, high-pitched sound. ‘In fact, it will probably work out perfectly.’

When I woke from a dreamless slumber, bright sunshine was seeping through the cheap hotel room curtains.

My back ached as I sat up in bed and checked my watch. It had just gone midday, and my mouth felt thick and dry. I’d sunk three beers in rapid succession to help me sleep when I’d got back, and I was tasting them now. I picked up the iPhone from on top of the pile of clothes I’d worn for the hit. I was going to have to get rid of them today, as well as the gun and the phone itself, but for now I checked it for messages and saw that I’d missed five calls from Schagel.

I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. I’d texted him as soon as I’d got back to the room to let him know the job was done, so there was no need for him to be chasing me, especially as he’d told me to get rid of the phone afterwards anyway.

I knew he’d be expecting a call back, but he was going to have to wait. I needed to wake up a bit first. Drinking the last of my mineral water, I took a shower, cleaned my teeth, and threw on some fresh clothes, finally feeling a little more human – at least physically.

Mentally, of course, it was a different story. Now that I was awake I couldn’t stop thinking about the two men I’d killed, haunted by what I’d done in a way I wasn’t used to. I’d broken my self-imposed rule of never targeting the innocent. I was pretty certain O’Riordan wasn’t corrupt or wicked yet I’d gunned him down in cold blood. And I’d killed his lover too, a man who was barely more than a kid and whose only sin had been to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It all left me feeling deeply in the wrong.

I sat down on the bed and called the number I’d texted earlier, confirming once again that the job was completed.

I wasn’t surprised when Schagel called me back barely two minutes later, sounding in good spirits. ‘Any complications?’ he asked – his standard opening phrase whenever I’d done some work for him.

‘A small one. There was someone else at the address when I arrived.’

‘His wife?’

‘No, another man. I think he and the target were lovers.’

Schagel laughed. ‘What a naughty boy. And you dealt with the other one, of course?’

‘Of course.’

‘So, it was a clean job, yes? The house is no more?’

‘I did everything as instructed.’

‘Good. Because I want you to stay in Manila for a day or two longer.’

I was immediately on my guard. It wasn’t like Bertie Schagel to make changes to his plans when I was already in the field, and I wondered, not for the first time, whether he’d finally decided that it would be safer to be rid of me, and was setting me up. ‘Why’s that?’

‘We’re expecting a visitor to the city who you may need to deal with. For an extra fee, of course. Are you still in possession of the box?’ he added, referring to the gun.

I told him I was.

‘Good. Keep it for now. I will try to organize another one, but I might not be able to at short notice. In the meantime, get rid of the phone as we arranged and get yourself a new one. Then call and leave me the new number.’

‘Who’s the visitor?’ I asked him.

‘I’ll send the details to the email account in the next few minutes. We are expecting her to arrive in Manila tomorrow morning, and you’ll need to be there to meet her. I’ll confirm the time later.’

‘Her?’

‘Yes. It’s a woman.’

This was a big problem for me, especially the way my guilt was going today. I’d only ever killed one woman in my life, and she’d been a monster. I didn’t want to have to kill any others.

When I didn’t say anything, Schagel sighed loudly. ‘Look,’ he said, sounding almost conciliatory, ‘I know how you feel about women. But if you agree to do this one job, I’ll bring your retirement plans forward. OK? One last job, and you’ll be free.’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This wasn’t like Schagel at all. ‘If you’re bullshitting . . .’

‘I’m not. I know you want to retire, and this is an extremely important task. Do it and our business relationship is over, and you can do whatever you want.’

Now it was my turn to sigh. I thought of my place in Laos, of being able to live out the rest of my life in peace. ‘OK,’ I said at last, forcing down the sick feeling I was getting in my gut. ‘I’ll do it.’

And in that moment, I sealed my fate.

It was 2.30 p.m. and I was standing in the stifling heat, waiting for my new gun. Schagel had decided, after some thought, that it was too risky to use the one I already had, and it was now broken up and lying at the bottom of a nearby canal.

The street I was on was hot, dirty and poor, the stink of exhaust fumes and gutters pervading everything. On either side, three- and four-storey cobbled-together buildings loomed, their corrugated-iron roofs leaning precariously over the tarmac and blocking out what light there was in the smog-choked sky. Drying clothes hung from every available space, and streams of unwashed, half-naked kids dodged the traffic as they played on the uneven, lumpy tarmac, while the women, many holding babies, sat round on chairs, boxes or whatever was to hand and gossiped as they looked on. The men, sour-faced and bored, simply loitered and smoked, those who could be bothered eyeing me suspiciously.

Westerners stood out more in Manila than in many other Asian cities. There were fewer of them as a proportion of the population, and, unlike me, those that were here didn’t tend to hang round in areas like this. A couple of passing hawkers had already
tried to sell me their wares, and though I’d shooed them away, they still hung back at a distance, like vultures, waiting for my resistance to sap.