No mistakes. In her line of work that had long been a rigid ethos. Yet it was even more apt now, Devereaux felt. She had reason to be wary, working for a man like Kyriakos Anastopoulos and his curious henchman Paulo. She’d seen what the two men were capable of and really didn’t want to lose any more fingers, or any other part of her body for that matter. Which was why she was being careful to make sure she had this right.
She sent the pictures to Paulo as she drove. Four pictures in total that she’d sent now. Mahmoud, Tanya, and her parents. Better safe than sorry, particularly as she was on the hunt here for a target whom, from the little Paulo had given her, had spent years living under aliases, even if he did only look like he was in his early thirties at most.
Hopefully, she’d get Paulo’s response in time. Otherwise, she might just have to make the call herself.
The drive from the school to the gated residence was five miles, but as the route passed through the center of the traffic-heavy city, the journey took nearly half an hour. At least the traffic made it all the more easy for Devereaux to blend in as she remained within touching distance of the Mercedes.
Finally, they arrived, and as she drove past the entrance gates, Mahmoud’s car was just disappearing beyond. She kept going, then did a U-turn and pulled her car onto the verge at the side of the road. They were right on the edge of the city here. The road was lined on either side with exclusive residences, all blocked off from the street by high walls and trees. In front of her, the city skyscrapers rose tall, but in every other direction, there was little more than desert.
She turned the engine off though remained in the car. She scrolled through her phone as she waited. How long would it take for Paulo to respond? Of course, she had no idea what he was up to right now. Butchering another family somewhere? In a helicopter having taken another hostage for wine and olives with Kyri? Or was he sitting in the sun somewhere drinking an ice-cold beer?
The truth was, she was fascinated by Paulo. Even more so than Kyri. Whatever Kyri’s story, which she did want to find out more of, she’d already decided he was most likely just another in a long line of men who believed their wealth and power made them a demigod. Old story. Devereaux was a bit bored of it to be truthful.
Paulo, though… Who was he? What was he? Because she’d seen that look in his eye. Had admired the way he moved when he’d attacked her, and she was damn sure the handiwork in that villa was down to him, too, rather than the old man.
Devereaux didn’t know whether she hated him and wanted to cut his balls off and slit his throat, or whether she wanted to—
Her phone buzzed on her lap. She picked it up. Didn’t even need to unlock the screen to see the extent of the short message she’d received in response.
An odd response, as far as she was concerned, but what did she know?
At least her work here would be quicker this way.
She put her phone down, slipped on the thin leather gloves – being careful of her bandage – then stepped out. The temperature had dropped a couple of degrees since she’d arrived at the school earlier. Night-time wasn’t far off. Would she be out of this weird city by then?
She strolled up the cracked pavement. The grass on the verge was brown and wispy and in need of care and attention. For all the money here, and on this street in particular, pavements in residential areas were a notable deficiency, it seemed. Nothing more than an afterthought. Perhaps that was because the car was king here. Why walk out of your house when you could have someone drive you? And so why bother with nice pavements and neat verges if no one is going to walk along them in the first place?
The street was deserted. Not a car or anyone in sight, all the residents who were home were safely holed up behind their outer walls and closed gates.
Devereaux reached the wall for the Wilkins’ residence. Another quick look around, then she jumped up, grasped the top ledge, and pulled her body up and over. She landed in a bush on the other side and brushed the stone dust from the wall off her clothes before carrying on. Yes, this family was wealthy, yes, they were security conscious, but this wasn’t the home of a mafia don or a drug kingpin. There were no patrols of armed guards here. Just a standard residential security system to cover the large estate, plus a few house staff, the most notable and likely dangerous of which she’d already met.
No one was in sight and she cautiously headed toward the house. One of the houses anyway, because off to her left, in the far corner of the plot, was a second building that could have been a mansion in its own right, but here was just a pool house. Or perhaps a garage. Or maybe both.
She didn’t go that way but toward the main building. Mahmoud’s Mercedes was parked up on the circular driveway in front of the mansion. Two other pricey cars were there too. Tanya’s parents were home? Or were those just spare cars for the weekend?
Devereaux kept on moving and soon reached the house. She didn’t go to the front door but headed around the side. Found another entrance. A plain-looking door. She could hear water gently lapping in the near distance – a pool, she guessed – though the quiet noise suggested no one was using it right now. She tried the handle on the door. Locked. She could pick it easily enough. Instead, she kept moving, around to the back of the house. Yes, it was a pool. A pretty nice one too. Somewhere in between the one in Spain and the one in Cyprus, in terms of extravagance. The filters whirred away, water trickled. Peaceful.
No other sounds out here. No signs of anyone, either.
She crouched as she passed under a window. Pulled up alongside some closed bifold doors. She peeked in. A lounge of some sort.
She jumped back when she spotted Tanya dashing across the open doorway at the far side of the room. She listened as carefully as she could. She didn’t think anyone was in the room. Peeked again. Empty. She reached for the handle. Then spotted the patio doors further along the back of the house. One of them was ajar.
Devereaux quickly moved across the bifolds and to the patio doors. The kitchen lay beyond. Spotless. No sign of whoever had cleared away the last meal, and no sign of anyone preparing the next meal yet.
She pulled the door open a little further then stepped inside. Cool air-conditioned air. Nice. Devereaux took a deep breath as she glanced around. She heard footsteps and giggling somewhere outside the room. Silently, she strode across the tiles on her toes and pulled up against the wall next to the arched doorway that led to a grand inner hall.
She could hear a TV now. Could hear Tanya talking. To herself and her toys, or to someone else?
Devereaux moved into the hall, one hand inside her jacket. She saw a flash of movement off to her left, beyond the next door. She went that way. A kid’s playroom. A huge flat-screen TV on the wall was playing a kids’ cartoon Devereaux didn’t recognize but that was abundantly pink. Like a lot of other things in the playroom. Except Tanya was whizzing around with a green alien in one hand and a big plastic T. rex in the other. A couple of growls and snarls later and it looked like the T. rex had won out and was enjoying its dinner.
Cute. And not at all dainty. Devereaux realized she was smiling as she watched.
She whipped around when she heard a shuffle behind her.
‘You?’ Mahmoud said.
His face was creased with suspicion. Just a few feet away Tanya carried on playing obliviously.
Devereaux grasped the door handle to the playroom and pulled the door shut. Then laughed. ‘Oh my God, you’re not going to believe this.’
One hand remained inside her jacket. Her fingers laced around the knife’s handle. Her other gloved hand was down by her side.
‘Tanya left her schoolbooks… and… well…’
She edged forward. The sultry look she knew men – and some women – loved so much snapped into position on her face. The confusion in Mahmoud’s eyes was palpable. His eyes glanced down at her gloved hand.
‘The truth is, I really wanted to see you again.’
She reached forward. But he grabbed her hand and twisted her around and shoved her up against the wall. He pulled her wrist up into her back, pushed her shoulder to bursting point. He yanked her other hand out of her jacket. She left the knife there. For now. He pinned that hand to the wall.
‘Who the hell are you?’ he said, his face close to hers, his breath tickling her ear. His aftershave tickled her nose. It was nice. Not cheap. She vaguely recognized it.
Devereaux said nothing. She smiled.
He shoved her further into the wall, pushing so hard on her back that it knocked the wind from her lungs.
‘Who are you?’
‘Please, you’re hurting my arm!’
She sobbed. Let her arms go limp. Mahmoud’s grip weakened a little as doubt likely wormed into his otherwise spot-on intuition.
His momentary lapse was enough. Devereaux snapped her arm free. Kicked back and dug her heel into Mahmoud’s toe. She twisted and spun out of the hold and thundered a fist into his groin. He let go of her and stumbled back. She swiped at his legs as she launched forward and ended up on top of him on the floor, his arms pinned.
The knife was now in her hand.
‘You silly boy,’ she said. ‘You thought I came for the girl?’
She tightened her grip on the knife and plunged it into the side of his neck.
‘Her parents?’
She pushed harder and the blade sank several inches into his flesh. His eyes went wide in surprise and he gargled for breath. He bucked and writhed but there was nothing he could do.
‘I came for you. Just you.’ She shook her head. ‘If only you’d realized that sooner…’
She pulled the knife free. Blood poured, and the panic and dismay in his eyes showed that he knew his life was over. Soon he was still.
Devereaux wiped the blade on his shirt to remove the blood, then sheathed the weapon once more. She looked behind her. The door remained closed. She could still hear the TV. Could still hear the girl playing.
She got up and moved to the door. Pushed her ear to the wood. Then used the butt of the knife grip to smash down onto the door handle. Three blows and the knob clanked to the floor.
Tanya’s voice paused. She’d be panicking about the now-locked door soon enough, but hopefully by the time someone opened it, the mess of Mahmoud would at least be covered up, if not cleaned up, and little Tanya wouldn’t have to witness what had happened to her guardian.
Devereaux took out her phone, took a picture of the corpse by her feet, and sent it over to Paulo.
Job done. Time for her next country, and her next target.