Hunter Killer - Alex King Series 12 (2021), A BATEMAN [urban books to read TXT] 📗

ball rolling and contact your client. Whatever they want, whatever you have to do, you make sure I get hired.”

“I’ll need a résumé.”

“You’ll get some details. I’ll email them to you. Yes, I have your email address. Nobody admits to what they have done in this game, so there will have to an element of trust, as someone like myself has in getting the second payment. Your client wants anonymity, and that leaves me not knowing who they are, or where they are. Like I said, trust.”

“But you already know who my client is…” Noventa commented wryly. “Otherwise, why else do you want this?”

“You are a clever enough man to realise that some questions do not get answered without consequences. No, right now you are a middleman. Only, you now work for me…” She stood up, her leg giving her some pain, but she tried her best not to show it. “I’ll be in touch.”

Milo Noventa turned to watch her leave and Big Dave said, “Eyes front, greasy.” He paused. “See what she doesn’t want you to see, and you won’t live to regret it.”

Noventa picked up his espresso, his hand shaking. It was his third, but it wasn’t the overload in caffeine that made him unsteady. The man was shaken to the core, and his options did not look good. After a few minutes he sighed and said, “How long do I have to stay here?” There was no reply, and he risked a glance, but Big Dave’s seat was empty, and the man hadn’t heard or sensed anything as the man-mountain had left.

Chapter Nineteen

 

“Jesus Christ! What the hell was that?”

“Improvisation,” Caroline replied tiresomely.

Sally-Anne Thorpe shook her head, glancing at Ramsay for support. “We were mounting a surveillance operation. You and Durand had barely got eyes and ears on at Noventa’s property. What did you think? You’d roll up at the stake-out and just wing it?” She watched Caroline move around the table and drop heavily into the chair. “You’re not even fit. You could have got into trouble facing off with the target like that.”

“I had Big Dave looking out for me.”

“Dave was caught unaware and had to improvise.” Thorpe paused. “And improvisation breeds mistakes.”

“I thought I was okay,” Big Dave chipped in. He had made a foot-long sub, and it was busting open with smoked meats, but he squeezed it closed and took an almighty bite. “Went well enough,” he added, speaking through a mouthful of coleslaw, salami, and salted roast beef.

Thorpe shook her head. “And where the hell did you get the gun?”

“That was me,” Durand interjected. “I have it back in my possession now…”

“We aren’t allowed to be armed,” she replied.

Durand shrugged. “I am an officer with my country’s counter-intelligence service, on secondment with Interpol. We are routinely armed and I can travel with my weapon under the Schengen Agreement.”

“And that’s your official weapon, is it? You wouldn’t have carried one in London and I seem to remember flying here with you direct from Gatwick Airport…”

Durand shrugged, took a sip of his coffee, and returned his attention to the laptop in front of him. Milo Noventa’s property had been put under electronic surveillance using pinhole cameras with audio throughout. Durand had intercepted the telephone line and an encrypted scanner would take care of the man’s mobile phone. The Active Financial Crime Unit of the Swiss police had handed over the IP address details and email trail logs to Interpol as part of their investigation, which Durand had used to great effect, and he was now logged into Noventa’s computer and capable of searching documents and emails without the man knowing.

“Let’s get some perspective,” said Ramsay. “I see what Caroline has done. Either Noventa works for us, or he works against us. If a genuine assassin gets wind of who is hiring, then we could have a situation where an assassin is in place and the contract is activated without us being in the loop. With Caroline posing as an assassin, and with Noventa coerced into presenting her to Fortez, we can now control the situation.”

“It’s called entrapment!” Thorpe paused. “It’s what we wanted to avoid, not least because it will never stand up in court.”

“Excuse me…” Caroline stood up, shuffled a step then used her crutch to walk towards the balcony door. She had overdone it earlier, exerted herself too much. She would have to take it easier, but she wasn’t the best patient for that. “I need some fresh air.” She opened the glass door and stepped outside, the hubbub of the city below, the tranquil waters of the lake in the distance above the rooftops in front of her. She took out her mobile phone and scrolled to the number King had given her before their last operation. She would need it now and she looked at the number, working out the simple code in which she had entered it into her phonebook. She had left the zeros and sevens in place, but every number was altered either one up, or one down numerically. There was no sense in altering zeros and sevens because they appeared in all UK mobile numbers, but by altering the subsequent numbers so simply it was easy for her to remember, and almost impossible for someone else to recognise. She looked up as Captain Durand stepped outside and lit a cigarette. He offered one to Caroline, but she politely shook her head and continued to text. She sent the opening text and waited.

“She is not used to operating in such a manner,” Durand ventured.

“No, she is not.”

“And I think both you and she have not taken to each other.”

“I’m a pro, Durand. I don’t partake in idle office gossip. Thorpe has her remit and I have mine, but I’ll be damned if I let someone stand in my way when I