Ryker and Lange rented a car for the long drive from Frankfurt to deep into the mountains of Switzerland. Setting off the next morning, the weather was sunny but chilly. They both took turns driving. For the most part, the cabin was filled with an awkward silence, as if neither was quite sure what they were doing on this mission together. Or perhaps it was mostly because Ryker remained deep in thought about what he’d learned so far from his discussions with Lange, Diaz, and Weller, and how much he still didn’t know about what was happening around him.
He also remained curious as to what Lange knew that he didn’t. She’d been perfectly clear that she remained a government agent, so there was almost certainly information she was privy to that she hadn’t yet shared with Ryker, and that she wouldn’t share with him. Not deceit exactly, though he would remain wary of her.
With Lange now driving, Ryker had even more time to think as he stared out of his window at the endless white. The highway they were on had been cleared of snow and was heavily gritted, though due to recent heavy snowfall only one lane on each side of the central divider was open, and for the past half hour they’d been chugging along at fifty miles an hour behind an articulated lorry, no way for them to get past.
Ryker spotted a sign indicating a service stop in ten kilometers. Probably the last chance they’d get to stop and rest before they turned off this road and headed deeper into the mountains. His belly grumbled at the thought of a hot drink and some food.
‘What do you know about Grichenko’s murder?’ Ryker said as he looked at Lange.
Even though her eyes remained on the road ahead, the out-of-the-blue question seemed to knock her a little. Ryker kept his gaze on her as he awaited a response. He was well aware he was unlikely to get the whole truth, but it would be remiss if he didn’t at least try.
‘I haven’t been personally involved in the investigation,’ Lange said.
‘So who is involved? Outside of the police, I mean.’
‘MI5, obviously—’
‘No, I’m asking for names. Who?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
Ryker humphed. ‘There must be something you can tell me. How did Grichenko come to be in England in the first place? Who helped him set up his new life and who’s been protecting him for the last decade? Why? How were he and his wife murdered? What forensic evidence was left by the killer? What leads are there on the murderer? Were they acting alone or did someone hire them?’
‘That’s a lot of questions.’
‘And I know you know the answers to at least some of them.’
There was a long pause. Ryker stared at her the whole time and he knew she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
‘They were poisoned,’ she said.
Lange glanced at him briefly, then back to the road ahead. Ryker processed the information. Really it was basic, but it was still something. More than had been reported in the press, that was for sure.
‘Poisoned with what?’ he said. ‘I was at the scene. There was nothing that suggested hazmat gear was being used, nothing to suggest contamination was a risk. So I’m ruling out anything radioactive, and anything biological that could spread.’
She glanced at him again but said nothing. Interesting, because he’d very deliberately dropped the fact that he’d been to the crime scene. She didn’t question that. Did that mean she already knew? Was she in contact with Kaspovich? Ryker didn’t like the idea of that at all.
‘So?’ he said. ‘What were they poisoned with? How?’
‘Potassium cyanide,’ Lange said. ‘As simple as that.’
‘Old school.’
‘Old school and hard to trace the origins. Nothing unique, nothing to indicate a possible source. And it’s quick-acting. Most likely they ingested it in the house where they were found.’
‘And it was quickly ruled a murder, rather than suicide. Why?’
A pause before, ‘I’m not sure I can tell you that.’
Ryker shook his head. ‘Cyanide. An interesting choice of poison. Normally quite easy to detect, so the murderer wasn’t trying to cover up how they died. We both know the reasons for using more sophisticated poisons – novichok and the like. They’re designed to be used covertly, to avoid detection. Deaths are recorded as heart attacks or strokes unless there’s a particular reason to suspect foul play.’
‘Grichenko was living under an assumed identity. Whoever his handlers were, his death would have raised suspicions.’
‘So you’re saying he had handlers?’
She didn’t answer that. Had it been a slip? It did add a slightly different context to the situation. Had Grichenko been protected by the British government the whole time? But then it was the British government who’d originally wanted him dead.
‘So what do you think the choice of poison tells us?’ Ryker asked.
‘What do you mean?’ she said, sounding confused. Playing dumb?
‘Want to know what I think?’ Ryker said, more irked by the moment now it was clear that Lange wasn’t being straight with him.
‘I’d love to,’ she said. Her sarcasm was obvious.
‘The killer was a hired gun.’
Her frozen reaction suggested she was trying too hard to show nothing. Which suggested he was spot on. ‘This wasn’t personal for the killer, and I’m betting there were clues left as to who the killer is. Forensic evidence at the scene. Perhaps you’ve identified a car they traveled in to that village using license plate recognition cameras. Perhaps you’ve already got CCTV captures of them at rest areas or in an airport. But the real question is, who paid them?’
‘That’s a good theory.’
‘Tell me I’m wrong.’
‘About which part?’
‘Come on, Nadia. What do you know about the killer? About who set them up. Tell me.’
‘There’s a rest stop coming up,’ she said, indicating out the window. ‘I could do with a break.’
And just like that she shut the conversation down.
That was fine by Ryker. She’d given him a little. Cyanide. More than he knew before. The murders weren’t personal. There’d been no violent rampage. The deaths were cold, calculated. Performed by someone detached from the victims. Someone professional. That narrowed the field down a lot, though it did leave Ryker wondering one thing – was the killer working in an official capacity? A state-sponsored assassination? Did Lange have direct evidence of that?
Or perhaps he was going off on a tangent.
Lange sighed as she pulled off the highway, out from behind the lorry. ‘Finally,’ she said. ‘Hopefully, we never see that thing again.’
They carried on up the access road for the rest area which consisted of a small gas station with a café diner next to it. There was only one other car in the parking lot.
‘You fill up,’ Lange said. ‘I’ll grab some food.’
‘No. Why don’t we have a proper break? Get something in the café.’
She looked at him dubiously but then turned away from the gas station and pulled into the café parking lot.
Ryker stepped out first. His skin prickled as the icy air hit him. Lange came around to his side and pulled her backpack from the footwell where Ryker had been sitting. Ryker showed no reaction, though he was glad she was bringing that with her. The inanimate object had been sitting between his legs for the last two hours like a siren calling to him. With Lange’s laptop inside, he knew that bag contained all the answers that Lange had but which she wasn’t willing to give him. He’d get access somehow. If she ever left the damn thing out of her sight.
They headed on into the café. A rustic affair that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a desert highway in fifties America. Except for all the snow outside, that was.
There was only one other customer inside. Lange and Ryker took seats in the opposite corner from him. They each ordered coffee and a filled baguette then sat in awkward silence for a few moments.
‘What’s on your mind?’ Ryker asked.
‘I heard about what happened to you.’
The way she was staring at him made Ryker think of a shrink diagnosing a patient.
‘Heard what?’ he said.
‘About what happened last year. Why you left.’
‘I left the JIA long before last year.’
The doubt on Lange’s face suggested she wasn’t sure what he meant by that.
Ryker had worked for the JIA for nearly twenty years. An organization that had now been disbanded entirely, and in large part due to Ryker’s actions on his last assignment for them.
‘I was helping out an old friend, that’s all,’ he said.
‘Moreno?’
How much did she know?
‘No. Peter Winter. You know of him?’
‘I know the name. But I’ve never met him.’
‘Moreno only became involved because of my own mistakes.’
‘I thought it was all to do with her past?’
Ryker didn’t say anything to that. He held Lange’s eye until she looked down when the waitress brought over the food and drink. They both got stuck in silently.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I was just interested, that’s all. Of course, I read about some of it in the papers, but we both know they spin the truth however it fits. And they only spin what they’re given in the first place, which in cases like that is rarely more than a glimpse of everything.’
‘What happened, happened,’ Ryker said.
‘But weren’t you and Moreno together?’
Is that why Lange was asking? Or was that just a smokescreen to her digging?
‘We were never together like that,’ Ryker said. ‘But she was very important to me. She still is. Which is why I’ll never see her again.’
Lange frowned. ‘That makes no sense to me.’
‘It doesn’t have to.’
Because it did make perfect sense to Ryker. Sam Moreno had been a breath of fresh air in his life. Ryker had long operated alone, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need companionship, and Moreno had been so very similar to him in that respect. Herself an intelligence agent, they’d first met during an op in Africa. An op which she’d come home from severely injured. He’d helped her through her long period of rehabilitation, but last year his association with her had very nearly gotten her killed. He’d only agreed to help his old boss, Peter Winter, as a favor. Then the investigation ended up focused on a prominent businessman named Bastian Fischer, and that had drawn out Moreno’s own checkered past and set old enemies after her.
Between the two of them, they’d seen off each and every one of those enemies, but Ryker knew from experience that there were plenty of skeletons left in both of their closets still. It was only a matter of time before the next one escaped. As it had done for him when Pavel Grichenko had been murdered.
However much Moreno meant to him, however much he missed her company, the further away from her he was, the better for both of them.
‘Maybe I’m just a bit jealous,’ Lange said with a shy laugh.
‘How do you mean?’
‘You met Moreno on an op, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Same as me and you. Yet after Doha, we never saw each other again. We never spoke to each other again. With Moreno… You literally killed for her.’
And he’d do it again.
‘Another way to look at it,’ Ryker said, ‘is that you’ve survived the last ten years. Perhaps that’s in part because you’ve had nothing to do with me. Perhaps you’ve been better off without me.’
He didn’t quite know what the look of disappointment he saw in her eyes meant.
Neither said anything more on the subject and they continued to eat and drink in silence.
‘Shall we get back to it?’ Ryker said after wiping his mouth with his napkin.
‘I just need to use the bathroom first,’ Lange said.
‘I’ll wait here for you.’
She paused for a moment before getting to her feet.
Leave the bag, he willed.
She did.
She headed off. Ryker already had his hand in his pocket, his fingers grasped on the thumb drive. As soon as she moved through the door, he whipped the device out. A quick glance at the waitress, who was minding her own business, then he ducked down. He unzipped the top of the bag. The laptop was right there, its ports facing him. He pushed the thumb drive in and a little green light on it blinked twice. It was working. But it would take time. The imaging software he’d preloaded would take a full copy – an exact replica – of the laptop’s hard drive. Most likely he’d have to battle through encryption to access her files, but he’d worry about that later.
He zipped the bag up again, thumb drive still in place. As he straightened up he realized the waitress was now staring over at him. But what did she care? It was Lange’s bag but for all the waitress knew they were husband and wife and both of their things were in there.
Ryker indicated for the check and Lange came out of the bathroom moments later. Ryker got to his feet as she reached the table.
‘We set?’ he said.
‘You don’t need the bathroom?’
‘I’m good.’
She picked the bag up. It looked like she was about to open it up but then the waitress came over with the check and, to Ryker’s relief, Lange pulled the bag over her shoulders. He dropped a couple of notes onto the table and they headed out.
‘You want to drive?’ Lange said.
‘Do you mind doing the honors again?’ Ryker asked. Perhaps a little unfair on her, but he couldn’t risk her taking out her laptop now. ‘This cold is playing havoc with my knee.’
She looked at him dubiously. ‘The indestructible James Ryker, eh?’
‘Something like that,’ he said with a laugh.