problem.’
‘In which case,’ Carmela announced happily, ‘let us take some steps. You are on leave. Enjoy Albi. But in two days’ time come with me, to interview Peter Steiner. As a
amuseé bouche,
a taster of the work. Then, if you so decide, you can take your interview in London. And if all goes well, you will join us as a representative .’ She raised her glass. ‘Agreed?’
There seemed no reason why Arnold should not agree.
5
T HE FLY BUZZED self-importantly, wandering uncertainly above the stone table on the terrace, attracted by the fruit displayed on the plate. It settled on the rough stone, crawled over the warm raw flesh of the ripe green fig and hesitated, nervous. Some red wine had earlier been spilled on the table and Sam Byrne watched as the insect buzzed away from the fruit, approached the red stain, then dropped, folded its wings, investigating, twitching its proboscis inquisitively.
He raised his hand, fingers curled. It was all about hand-eye co-ordination. Approach from the rear. The multi-lensed, swivelling eye of the fly would see the danger, but he knew that in flight flies took off backwards. That split second gave him the opportunity. As split seconds always did.
As he snatched, he knew immediately that he had succeeded. There was a faint tickling in his fist. He kept his fingers clenched for a few seconds, then slowly opened his hand. He was not in a killing mode today. The fly took off with a relieved buzz and vanished beyond the bougainvillea which clung to the villa wall.
Not in killing mode.
That had been the case for almost three years now. Not that it mattered a great deal. He was confident that the old skills would not have deserted him. His body was still as finely toned as it had been on his resignation from his commission. Here, at his villa on the Costa Blanca, he was able to swim most days in the pool; the surrounding hills gave him the opportunity to run andclimb, and among the deserted, decaying olive-tree plantation that extended behind the villa he was able to keep his eye in with regular target practice.
He had no need to continue his earlier activities, of course. After leaving the army he had made himself available for certain mercenary duties that had been extremely well paid: it was only a short step beyond that to take up the various contracts that had been offered him. And the system had been simple. There would be no connection to be traced between him and the target. Payment was made into a discreet bank account in Madrid, and the people who employed him were not known to him. A phone call, a code word, and instructions delivered by e-mail, ostensibly innocuous, to give him the coded details he required. His bank balance had grown impressively.
But, perhaps inevitably, once the commissions dried up he had become bored at his existence. An edge had gone from his life however much he might dispute the fact mentally. Consequently, when the latest message had appeared on his personal computer he had responded in spite of the fact that it had not arrived in the usual coded form. The target, as was always the case, was not known to him personally and there would be no way in which Sam Byrne could be linked to the individual identified. On the other hand there had been a surprise: this time the person commissioning the hit was known to him.
The last fact was not welcome, but after due consideration he had decided he would accept the commission, if only for old times’ sake. Payment arrangements had been agreed, the sum determined upon had been more than acceptable and he had been disturbed only by occasional doubts. He was aware he was exposing himself more than he had been accustomed in the past but … he was bored.
And there was also the equipment he had recently purchased.
It had been manufactured by Lewis Machine & Tool Companyin the US. The semi-automatic weapon fired a 7.62 millimetre round, larger than the standard issue SA80A2 assault rifle he had been
‘In which case,’ Carmela announced happily, ‘let us take some steps. You are on leave. Enjoy Albi. But in two days’ time come with me, to interview Peter Steiner. As a
amuseé bouche,
a taster of the work. Then, if you so decide, you can take your interview in London. And if all goes well, you will join us as a representative .’ She raised her glass. ‘Agreed?’
There seemed no reason why Arnold should not agree.
5
T HE FLY BUZZED self-importantly, wandering uncertainly above the stone table on the terrace, attracted by the fruit displayed on the plate. It settled on the rough stone, crawled over the warm raw flesh of the ripe green fig and hesitated, nervous. Some red wine had earlier been spilled on the table and Sam Byrne watched as the insect buzzed away from the fruit, approached the red stain, then dropped, folded its wings, investigating, twitching its proboscis inquisitively.
He raised his hand, fingers curled. It was all about hand-eye co-ordination. Approach from the rear. The multi-lensed, swivelling eye of the fly would see the danger, but he knew that in flight flies took off backwards. That split second gave him the opportunity. As split seconds always did.
As he snatched, he knew immediately that he had succeeded. There was a faint tickling in his fist. He kept his fingers clenched for a few seconds, then slowly opened his hand. He was not in a killing mode today. The fly took off with a relieved buzz and vanished beyond the bougainvillea which clung to the villa wall.
Not in killing mode.
That had been the case for almost three years now. Not that it mattered a great deal. He was confident that the old skills would not have deserted him. His body was still as finely toned as it had been on his resignation from his commission. Here, at his villa on the Costa Blanca, he was able to swim most days in the pool; the surrounding hills gave him the opportunity to run andclimb, and among the deserted, decaying olive-tree plantation that extended behind the villa he was able to keep his eye in with regular target practice.
He had no need to continue his earlier activities, of course. After leaving the army he had made himself available for certain mercenary duties that had been extremely well paid: it was only a short step beyond that to take up the various contracts that had been offered him. And the system had been simple. There would be no connection to be traced between him and the target. Payment was made into a discreet bank account in Madrid, and the people who employed him were not known to him. A phone call, a code word, and instructions delivered by e-mail, ostensibly innocuous, to give him the coded details he required. His bank balance had grown impressively.
But, perhaps inevitably, once the commissions dried up he had become bored at his existence. An edge had gone from his life however much he might dispute the fact mentally. Consequently, when the latest message had appeared on his personal computer he had responded in spite of the fact that it had not arrived in the usual coded form. The target, as was always the case, was not known to him personally and there would be no way in which Sam Byrne could be linked to the individual identified. On the other hand there had been a surprise: this time the person commissioning the hit was known to him.
The last fact was not welcome, but after due consideration he had decided he would accept the commission, if only for old times’ sake. Payment arrangements had been agreed, the sum determined upon had been more than acceptable and he had been disturbed only by occasional doubts. He was aware he was exposing himself more than he had been accustomed in the past but … he was bored.
And there was also the equipment he had recently purchased.
It had been manufactured by Lewis Machine & Tool Companyin the US. The semi-automatic weapon fired a 7.62 millimetre round, larger than the standard issue SA80A2 assault rifle he had been
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