Time slowed.
I lunged forward and powered hard into Simone amid shouts and gunfire. Her gun hand flew up as I connected. Metal stitched the ceiling, kicking up a sandstorm of plaster. Dust and debris half-blinded us. We both hurtled towards the window.
Fearing the drop, I dug in my heels, slowing my flight, while Simone barrelled forward. It was as if some higher force had grabbed my shoulder, fingers digging deep, and wrenched me backwards. I watched as her eyes popped wide on impact, her scream ear-shattering over the sound of breaking glass and splintering rotten wood. The drop had to be at least thirty feet onto paved stone and her car below.
I, meanwhile, lay flat on my back, choking and spluttering, and barely registered as the door exploded from its hinges. There were footsteps on bare wood and then McCallen’s eyes stared down at me.
‘I’ve never been more pleased to see you.’ I meant it.
‘Don’t get any funny ideas. This isn’t going to turn into one of those parties you enjoy so much.’ She peeled off her jacket and shirt, ripped off the sleeves and, with two strips, wrapped one tight around my leg and bandaged my hand. It was the most I’d ever seen of her in the flesh.
‘How did you know I’d be here?’
‘Symmetry,’ she said, putting her leather back on. ‘It’s the seat of Billy’s lost empire, where it all began.’
‘Is Simone dead?’
McCallen cocked an eyebrow. ‘Want me to check?’
‘Yes.’
She sprang up and crossed to the shattered window, hanging back, looking down. ‘Put it this way, her car has an extra spoiler.’
I thought about it. ‘Does it count?’
McCallen frowned. ‘Does what count?’
‘That I killed her?’
‘You didn’t. She did that all on her own.’
‘Artistic licence, surely?’
McCallen shrugged. ‘No point stressing. You did what you had to do. End of. Not like you to be introspective.’
She propped me up, rang for an ambulance and called Flynn to give him a status report. From what I could make out, I was to be debriefed. I shook my head at McCallen who put the flat of her hand up to silence me. Very authoritative, I thought.
‘It’s procedure,’ she assured me when she got off the phone. ‘First off, you need medical attention.’ She eyed the bandage. ‘Is that your trigger hand?’
‘I’ve lost the top of my little finger, not that it matters.’
‘Of course it matters.’
She gave me a typical McCallen look, as though she had no idea what to do with me. I thought I caught a hint of something else, as though she had plans that I didn’t yet know about.
‘How come you’ve bounced back so quickly?’ I was genuinely intrigued.
‘Revenge,’ she said, her green eyes cool and luminous.
* * *
Justine Franke’s call came through when I was semi-conscious after theatre. After an initial awkward exchange, I gave her the main headlines and delivered the bad news about her eldest daughter. The line went quiet.
‘Hello, Justine?’
‘I said no good would come of it.’
‘Of Simone?’
Another silence. ‘I’m not proud of what I did, but I was only a kid. My parents acted in what they believed were my best interests. They hoped it would kill any relationship with Billy. They’d never liked him. In the end, I defied them and they cut me off.’
‘So what happened later? Did Simone track you down?’
‘She was only ever interested in Billy. I was the wicked mother who’d abandoned her.’
‘It must have caused a few problems for your marriage.’
‘It was nothing compared to what happened later.’
‘I’m no lawyer, but you might now have a case to get your home back as the charity has been revealed as bogus. Are all the debts cleared?’
‘Can anyone clear a debt for multiple murder?’
It struck home and she was right. We talked some more and, depressed and eager to get off the line, I was relieved when she wrapped up the call.
Against doctor’s orders, I discharged myself two days later. I had ten stitches in my thigh and I’d undergone surgery on my hand. With most of my fingers and thumb intact, I could function in every respect. The wound to my leg wasn’t as bad as it might have been. A few centimetres further across and it would have been a different story. Simone playing a harp and me accompanying her with spoons.
McCallen came to collect me in her souped-up Mini. I detected that it was for no other reason than she wanted something. Some things never changed. From several kilometres, I’d recognise that look in her eye, a combination of ambition and determination. When she told me we were taking a detour I knew exactly what to expect.
She drove me to a hotel out of town, the name of which I was sworn never to mention. Opulent, elegant and classy, the place oozed with calm grandeur and serenity. It was a good call, although peace was something that continued to elude me.
McCallen showed me to a private room tucked away from the main building. Decked out like a mini conference suite, it had a highly polished walnut table and six chairs, including one at each end. The colour scheme was deep red, rust and vermillion. To my eyes, it looked like several different shades of blood: old, dried and fresh.
My welcoming party consisted of Flynn; nobody else. Affable and friendly, he went to give me a firm handshake and I offered my left hand. He indicated a silver tray with cut-glass decanters, ice and glasses, asked me what I’d care to drink. I chose whisky. The softening-up approach was so blatant it made me wonder what the hell they were going to say and what leverage would be used if I refused to cooperate. Maybe they were going to throw me to the tender mercies of Mossad after all.
After handing me a glass, he invited me to sit down. We all did. Flynn at one end, McCallen opposite me. I was the only one drinking.
‘How’s the leg?’ he said, solicitous.
‘It will heal.’
‘And the hand?’
‘It works.’
‘I’ve read McCallen’s full report. All right if I touch on a couple of minor issues with you?’
‘Feel free.’ I tipped the glass to my lips and took a drink and listened.
The issues were so minor they weren’t worth the airtime. Having clarified things that were already so transparent you could see through them, Flynn sat back and smiled. I smiled back and glanced across at McCallen.
‘If that’s it, I’ll leave you to it. Wouldn’t want to take up any more of your time.’ I might as well have been talking to the painting on the wall. They went into collective lockdown.
‘This is your second outing with us, isn’t it?’ Flynn said.
‘I wouldn’t put it like that.’
‘How would you put it?’
I glared at McCallen, who smiled. ‘Our paths crossed, nothing more. You do what you have to do. I did what I had to do. End of.’ The smile vanished.
‘You have unusual skills,’ Flynn said.
‘Which I no longer choose to use.’
‘Pity.’
I took another swallow of booze. ‘Do the British public know that the security service outsources work to known assassins?’
‘That’s a little crude, surely?’
‘Is it? In any case, I thought you had your own wet ops team.’
McCallen cleared her throat. ‘I think what Flynn means is that we’d appreciate calling upon you for certain specialist assignments.’
‘I wouldn’t get clearance.’
‘Not in an official capacity,’ Flynn said with delicacy.
I got it. ‘In which case I’d be deniable and expendable.’
To his credit, Flynn made no attempt to dispute my claim or put me at ease. ‘You have my personal guarantee that you’d be paid extremely well.’
‘I’m not interested in money.’
‘What are you interested in?’
‘Self-respect. Doing the right thing. Getting up in the morning and being able to look in the mirror without flinching, knowing that I’m going to do an honest day’s work that doesn’t involve killing someone.’ I sounded as agitated as I felt. Justine’s simple question, ‘Can anyone clear a debt for multiple murder?’ had rattled me. I might never be eligible for redemption but if these people undermined my desire to live a better life, I was screwed.
‘Is that your final word?’
‘It is.’
Flynn got up and stuck out his hand again. I stood and shook, and McCallen, tight-faced, escorted me out. I could tell she was fuming because she didn’t look at me, didn’t speak. Every traffic light against us, a proliferation of road works and potholes in the tarmac, the mildly uncomfortable drive back took longer than it should have.
‘Stop the car,’ I said as we hit town. ‘You can drop me here.’
McCallen pulled over and slammed on the brakes. I jerked forward. ‘Fuck, that hurt,’ I growled.
She cut the engine. ‘Are you simply stupid, or stubborn? You can’t walk back.’
‘It’s not far.’
‘Hex, we’re in Prestbury. You live in Tivoli.’
She treated me to a stare that would make a taipan slither away. I know when to give in gracefully. I flashed an easy smile. ‘I didn’t realise it was a door-to-door service.’
She looked at me for a moment and, against every effort to do otherwise, relaxed. ‘Sorry about the leg. Are you okay?’
‘If it turns septic I’ll know who to blame.’
She let out a laugh. It sounded great. Starting the engine, she checked the rear-view and pulled out. Now that we were back on speaking terms, she finally opened up.
‘Why did you turn down Flynn’s offer?’
‘You know why.’
‘I know what you said. I don’t know what you meant.’
Nettled, I gave her a sharp look. ‘I thought honour and justice were good enough reasons.’
‘They are perfect reasons, which is exactly why you should reconsider. Honour and justice lie at the heart of what we do.’
I made a noise, one part cynicism, two parts incredulity.
‘The real reason you turned us down,’ McCallen continued, ‘is to save your own skin. I thought you were better than that.’
I opened my mouth to protest, but McCallen was unstoppable. ‘Hear me out. You have all the talents needed for a good spy. You can live with secrecy. You understand that sometimes people get hurt who don’t deserve it, yet it doesn’t turn you into a gibbering heap. Your mental muscles are strong, your instincts sharp. You can still carry on living here, doing what you do. We’d only call on you for the more unusual gigs.’
‘The dirty gigs, you mean.’
‘The difficult ones, yes. It’s an honourable calling.’
‘And Mossad?’
‘I’m sure we could come to an accommodation with them.’
We had turned into my street and McCallen drove me to my door. She leant across, engine running, and dropped a soft kiss on my mouth. ‘Think about it,’ she said.
‘There’s nothing –’
‘Do you want to spend the rest of your life in the cheap seats?’ She pressed her index finger against my lips to brook all argument. Her smile was pure titanium. I clambered out.
Standing on the pavement, I watched as she tooted her horn and drove away. The sun popped out from behind a cloud, enveloping me in sudden heat and light. I tipped my head briefly to the sky, felt the warmth of its rays on my skin, and then hobbled to the front door. I had plenty to think about.