Better Off Dead: (Victor the Assassin 4) Read online

  ‘I’m not doing it for you, remember?’

  ‘I’m not likely to forget. If Eleanor was here, she would insist and you would take the money instead of offending her.’

  Norimov reached into his coat. He had a shrink-wrapped brick of hundred-dollar bills. A glance told Victor the brick contained one hundred bills. ‘It’s clean.’

  ‘Regardless,’ Victor said. ‘I don’t carry that much cash.’

  ‘Your choice,’ Norimov said, putting the brick away again.

  ‘You do realise that they might have her already? They might be keeping her alive while they smuggle her back to St Petersburg. Better leverage that way, and here is where they are strongest. That’s what I would do. I would call you and make her scream down the phone for you to save her and I would tell you to come alone – and you would.’

  Norimov put his face in his hands. ‘For all my crimes, I have never been so sadistic. I am a sickly lamb surrounded by wolves because my compassion is weakness. Ironic, because my criminality bred Gisele’s hatred of me. Had I been crueller, she would now be safe.’

  ‘Almost certainly,’ Victor agreed. ‘You forgot the first rule.’

  The Russian stared at him, red-eyed and weak. ‘Survival before everything. I know. I did forget. I allowed myself a life. But is it worth it, Vasily? Is surviving enough?’

  Victor thought about all the corpses he had seen; all the dead faces of those who had failed to survive because he had instead.

  ‘Each breath is worth it.’

  FOR ELEANOR

  LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM

  FOURTEEN

  International airports were among Victor’s least favourite places. Almost without exception they were teeming with armed security guards and cameras. Each time he passed through passport control he risked being compromised. Either because the identity he was travelling under had been flagged in connection with one of his previous jobs or it had ceased to be clean for reasons beyond his control, or his frequent surgeries had failed to outwit the continued advancements in facial recognition technology, or a keen-eyed member of staff identified that he simply wasn’t right.

  He’d been in London within the last year as part of a job, but only to discuss it. The time before that, the visit had been what could be called a personal project, and though he’d been involved in serious criminal activity, no one had lost their life by his hand. Travelling anywhere he’d operated before carried risk, but in this instance visiting London posed minimal risk. He had a strong inclination that once he left again, he wouldn’t be returning for a long time.

  He arrived at London City Airport after a smooth Rossiya flight that took a little over four hours, getting out of his seat when about half of the cabin had already departed to reduce the chances he would be picked out for scrutiny. Those in a hurry to disembark were more likely to be noticed, as were those in no hurry. The centre of the bell curve was where Victor always preferred to lurk.

  A smiling woman asked him a few routine questions as she checked his documents and smiled wider after she’d wished him a pleasant stay. He circled the terminal twice as part of his routine counter surveillance, paying particular attention to those waiting with a view of where his arrival lounge connected with the terminal proper.

  He had an overnight bag but no other luggage. Victor preferred to travel light. He would travel with no luggage at all if not for the fact it would mark him out as someone to pay attention to. The case was a cheap knockoff purchased from a market trader in St Petersburg. It contained similarly counterfeit clothes. Victor had no intention of wearing them or keeping hold of the case any longer than necessary. Though the case and the clothes had not been used as part of any criminal activity, they connected him to St Petersburg, to Russia. Therefore they were compromised. Not solely because of his relationship with Norimov or his enemies in the country, but because they were evidence of his movements. Any connection with his past, whether a day ago or ten years ago, had the potential to cause him harm.

  A Polish woman fixed him a coffee and he sipped it while sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair. Abandoning the half-empty cup on the table, he found a pay phone near an information kiosk, inserted coins, and used the knuckle of his left middle finger to punch out the international dialling code, then number.

  It took a few seconds for the line to connect.

  A voice said, ‘Privet?’

  ‘I’m in London,’ Victor replied in English. ‘But we might have a problem.’

  ‘What kind of a problem?’ Norimov asked, switching languages too, tentative but curious.

  Victor watched travellers walk by, wearing shorts and T-shirts, limbs browned by holidays in sunnier climes.

  He said, ‘You need to answer a question for me, and you need to be honest.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone to wait for me at the airport?’

  The answer was a resolute ‘No.’

  ‘Okay,’ Victor said. ‘That’s good and bad.’

  ‘Why both?’

  ‘It’s good that you respected my wishes. But bad because it means a third party is interested in me and knows enough about my movements to have a watcher in place for my arrival.’

  ‘A watcher?’ There was hesitation in Norimov’s voice.

  Victor looked over to where a large, dark-haired man in a padded jacket and jeans loitered near a concessions stand.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Victor said as he watched the man trying to act casual. ‘I’ll deal with it.’

  More hesitation. ‘What do you mean… you’ll deal with it?’

  ‘I mean I’ll neutralise the threat, of course. I’ll call again when I’ve news about Gisele’s whereabouts.’

  ‘Wait.’

  Victor did, then said, ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’

  ‘Wait,’ Norimov said again. ‘Don’t hang up. You don’t have to neutralise any threat. He’s my man.’

  ‘I know that. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t know that the second I saw a pumped-up gorilla hanging around near my arrival lounge? I’m offended you have such a low opinion of me.’

  ‘I… I don’t know what I thought. I wasn’t thinking. I should have known better. I’m sorry. I truly am. I panicked, okay? I just wanted to make sure you arrived. That’s all. You’ll appreciate that I’m on the edge here, don’t you? Dmitri wasn’t going to follow you, I swear.’

  Victor said, ‘He couldn’t follow me if his life depended on it. When you hire people for their muscle mass you really shouldn’t be surprised when they stand out in a crowd. I could smell the stink of steroids in the air before I even saw him. Where’s the other one?’

  Silence on the line.

  ‘Don’t make me ask you again, Alex. You have two men in London. I’m looking at one of them. I’m asking you where the other is. Don’t even think about lying. Gisele’s missing. You haven’t been simply praying that I’d show. You said yourself that you didn’t believe I would meet you. You also said you have ten good men on your payroll. There were eight guarding you in that bar. That leaves two. Which isn’t a lot to send if you’re concerned about your daughter. But I take it the two in London now are the only ones who could get visas in time, or at all.’

  Norimov took his time responding. When he did, ‘I’m sorry,’ was all he managed to say.

  ‘You said that already.’

  ‘I’m not trying to f — I’m not trying to screw you around, Vasily. I’m scared. I’m not thinking straight. I should have told you about Dmitri and Yigor. I’m sorry. I know you work alone. I didn’t want to risk you saying no. They won’t bother you. They won’t get in your way.’

  This time Victor didn’t respond.

  ‘Are you still going to find Gisele for me?’ Norimov asked after a moment.

  ‘If I was here for you I would now be boarding the first flight out and the next time you heard from me would be when I was standing over your bed in the middle of the night.’ A pause. ‘But I’m not he
re for you, am I?’

  ‘I’m not likely to forget.’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean I will tolerate your interference. Consider this your first warning. Do you understand what the second will be?’

  ‘Yes. I —’

  Victor hung up.

  Fourteen seconds later the large man with dark hair fumbled to retrieve his phone from a pocket of his jeans. He held it to his ear and Victor watched the movements of his lips.

  Privet? – yes.

  Then: Net, konečno, on ne videl menja – No, of course he hasn’t seen me.

  The man listened for a moment, then glanced at Victor. Oder’mo. On smotrit prjamo na menja – Shit. He’s looking straight at me.

  Victor watched as the man ended the call and forced the phone back into his jeans’ pocket. They were tight. Victor approached the man. He stared at Victor as he crossed the space, his back straightening and his shoulders squaring, maximising his already significant height and bulk as a show of defiance and ego.

  ‘Dmitri, right?’ The man responded with a single, slow nod. ‘Do you speak English?’

  Dmitri nodded again. ‘We met two years ago in St Petersburg. Your name is Vasily. You broke two of my ribs.’

  His English was good, as Victor had expected. Dmitri wouldn’t be much use searching for Gisele in London otherwise.

  ‘I only meant to break one,’ Victor replied.

  Dmitri frowned. He had a wide but low forehead and the same prominent eyebrow bone from growth-hormone abuse as the guys outside the bar. They were probably gym buddies.

  He said, ‘I had to have two surgeries to fix them. And they’re not properly fixed. I have to sleep on my back or on my left side. I snore if I sleep on my back and my girl kicks me in the shin until I wake up and stop. Sometimes, when I’m already asleep, I will roll over on to my right. I don’t know it at the time, but then I wake up and I’m in agony. The pain is unbelievable. It’s the nature of the break, they tell me.’

  ‘I could have killed you. I didn’t. You should be thanking me.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ he said with a small smile.

  ‘It’s good to catch up, but we really don’t have time for this while Gisele is missing. I take it you’ve been trying to find her – checking where she lives; speaking to friends and so on?’ A nod. ‘Good, then you can help me.’

  ‘Why would I want to help you?’

  ‘This is about Norimov’s daughter, not me. He sent me here because you’ve failed to locate her. Either you can assist me or you can refuse. Whatever you decide, I’ll find her. If you help me track her down you can share the credit, assuming she’s still alive. If you don’t help me and I find her too late, then Norimov will know you put your personal feelings before the life of his daughter.’

  ‘You’re an asshole.’

  ‘That’s what people always tell me.’

  ‘I don’t like you.’

  ‘No one likes me.’

  Dmitri took a step closer. ‘I don’t take orders from you.’

  Victor could smell the coffee on the man’s breath. ‘I never said that you did. But I recommend you stand down before you say something you’ll feel compelled to back up.’

  ‘Do you remember what happened when you fucked up my ribs?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘We just asked you to leave, that was all. No big deal. You pretended to comply. You acted like you were an okay guy. Then you hit me with that cheap shot.’

  ‘A succinct summation.’

  ‘You’re a coward. I didn’t know that then, but now I do. So I’m never going to give you that same opportunity again.’

  ‘Good for you. But you probably shouldn’t have told me that. Better if your opponent doesn’t know your intentions. Like when I broke your ribs.’

  Dmitri drew a sharp inhalation of air through his nose. It wasn’t quite a snort, but equally unpleasant. ‘It doesn’t matter. All that matters is you’re nothing but a little man who acts like pussy. In a fair fight, I’d snap you in half.’

  ‘Then I guess it’s good for me that I never fight fair.’ Victor stared into Dmitri’s eyes. ‘So, if we’re done with the bravado, what’s it to be? Are you going to help me, or not?’

  Dmitri edged closer: aggressive but short of an outright challenge. He wasn’t about to start a fight in an airport, whatever his level of dislike. ‘I’ll help you find Gisele, assuming you’re not bullshitting that you can. But I’m doing this for Norimov, because he’s a good man. I’m not doing it for you.’

  ‘I appreciate that. I’d also appreciate it if you watch your language.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Don’t swear.’

  Dmitri thought about this for a moment, then shrugged as if it didn’t matter. He said, ‘No swearing, sure. And I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Then when this mess is all sorted out’ – a little smile played on his face – ‘we can… settle our differences.’

  ‘Sure,’ Victor replied. ‘If you’re that keen to sleep on your back for the rest of your life, I’m more than happy to oblige you.’

  FIFTEEN

  Victor’s hotel was located only a few minutes’ drive from the airport. Dmitri drove fast, but not fast enough to draw attention. He was urged on by purpose but not to the detriment of caution. He may have been looking for his boss’s daughter, but he was still a career criminal. Victor ignored protocol and sat beside him in the passenger seat, instead of in the back. It gave him less protection and fewer options should Dmitri’s animosity take on a darker hue, but he wanted the Russian to work with him, not against him, and the less he did to potentially antagonise the man, the sooner he could effectively use him.

  Victor spent the short journey asking questions and paying close attention to the answers Dmitri gave. Much of the information he had already garnered from Norimov. The hunt had not produced any leads. Dmitri had canvassed the local area, stopping people in the street to show them an old photograph of Gisele and to ask if anyone had seen her. They hadn’t.

  ‘The rest of the time I’ve been driving around, trying to spot her. I didn’t know what else to do.’

  Victor nodded. ‘Has anyone else been looking for her? Other Russians?’

  Dmitri shook his head. His neck was so thick Victor was almost surprised he was capable of even the slightest rotation. ‘I haven’t seen anyone. What does that mean?’

  ‘If they’re coming after Norimov, they have strength and resources. It wouldn’t be hard for them to find out that Gisele lives in London. So either they’re here looking for her too and you didn’t see them, or they’ve found her already.’

  Dmitri sighed and chewed on his bottom lip. ‘Bad times.’

  ‘Have you checked her home?’

  ‘She’s not there.’

  ‘I know. I mean have you been inside?’

  Dmitri shook his head. ‘It’s a flat in a building. People are there. We’d have to break the doors down. No keys. Norimov said not to. He said keep the profile low.’

  Victor nodded again.

  ‘What do we do first?’

  ‘I’ll check in and take a quick shower. After that, we start looking for Gisele.’

  The hotel was located in a cluster of other hotels, all serving the nearby airport and a huge exhibition centre. Dmitri pulled up outside the front entrance.

  Victor said, ‘I’ll be about half an hour. Use that time to get me a good quality multi-tool and a box of big paperclips.’

  Dmitri stared, confused, but decided against asking why. He shrugged. ‘Sure. Whatever you want. Multi-tool and paperclips. Big ones.’

  Inside, the hotel was as spare and modern as its glass and steel façade suggested. Victor checked in, declining the offer of having someone take his suitcase to his room, and took the stairs up to the third floor. He’d only required a standard room to sleep in, but he had other requirements that necessitated a junior suite. He placed his suitcase on the floor next to the bed, examined the suite briefly to make sure it fulfilled his needs, and went in
to the bathroom to turn on the shower. He unwrapped a packet of soap and dropped it into the bath beneath the flow of water. He unscrewed the tops of the mini bottles of shampoo and shower gel. He poured a quarter of each into the bath. He left the shower running and took the freestanding magnifying mirror from the bathroom. He opened the curtains and placed it on the window sill, adjusting its position so it sat exactly where he needed it and with the mirror at the required angle.

  His suitcase contained some clothes and other effects, which he distributed throughout the room – a suit and shirts hanging from the door of the walk-in wardrobe; shaving kit, toothbrush and toiletries in the bathroom; underwear on the bed.

  He unfolded a bath towel and briefly held it underneath the shower’s flow. He dropped it on the tiled floor. He shook a can of deodorant, pointed the nozzle upwards at the ceiling and sprayed for a count of six.

  Aside from the items he’d already taken from his suitcase, it contained an attaché case, which he removed. He positioned the suitcase on the bed and zipped it closed. He took the attaché case with him as he left the suite.

  By the time he’d reached the ground floor he still had twenty minutes of his half an hour remaining. He headed away from the main entrance on its east side and walked to the hotel’s business centre, passed it, and carried on past the fitness suite. He pushed open an exit that took him to the hotel’s south side, where a trio of hotel employees on a break were smoking cigarettes and drinking hot drinks in the chill sunshine. An elevated railway with a road underneath lay before him.

  He crossed the road to the other side and walked between the sparse line of trees that marked the boundary to another hotel. He went inside via its north entrance and made his way to the lobby where he smiled at the thin gentleman behind the front desk.

  ‘I’d like to check in, please.’

  His room was on the fourth floor. It was a pleasant enough guestroom but nowhere near the standard of the other hotel. He spent a minute familiarising himself with its layout and then he opened the curtains. The view was a poor one. He looked out at the elevated railway to the north. Between its tall concrete supports he could see the south façade of the first hotel. Directly in his eyeline lay the hotel’s third-floor windows. Some had their curtains open. Others were closed.