Adrian Magson - Deception

Rik had broken off talking to a young woman further along the street and was walking towards him, the clipboard in evidence and his other hand parked inside his sling. He was limping noticeably, too.

Harry smiled in spite of the circumstances. It was a neat touch, if a bit dramatic. Who would expect any kind of threat from a man with a gimpy leg and his arm in a sling?

He approached the Kombi, timing his pace to coincide with Rik’s arrival at the rear of the van. Five paces short of the vehicle, he moved to the kerb and dropped the garbage bag alongside a bin, shaking his head in a disgruntled resident look, then moved off to continue on by. As he did so, he checked the pavement both ways. No pedestrians close by, nobody watching. No collateral risk if anything should kick off. Otherwise, a few passing cars, a FedEx delivery truck just pulling in along the street, but most of the drivers too intent on their progress to take any notice.

As he drew level with the Kombi’s front wing, Harry turned and stepped in fast against the driver’s door, preventing it from opening. In the same instant, Rik moved out into the street and walked up to the passenger door, tapping on the window.

The men inside scrambled to sit up, the passenger upsetting a plastic bottle of mocha milk drink over his lap with a shout of protest while the driver turned to stare at Harry with a look of alarm. He began to reach for the ignition.

Then he saw the gun in Harry’s hand, resting against the glass. Harry made a circular motion with his hand, and the driver hesitated, then lowered the window. A loud tap from Rik and the passenger saw the gun’s twin not two inches from his shoulder, hidden inside Rik’s sling. He also lowered his window, but with reluctance.

Both men were in their twenties, dressed casually in jeans and jackets, and would have passed unnoticed in the street. Neither had shaved for a couple of days, and had short, scrubby hair. The driver was suffering an outbreak of acne. The passenger stared across at Harry, deliberately ignoring the gun right next to him. Harry identified him as the leader of the two, all attitude and bravado.

‘Police,’ he said, and reached in and removed the keys from the ignition. He nodded at Rik to check the back. Rik disappeared for a moment, and there was the sound of a door opening, then closing. He reappeared at the passenger window and shook his head. No sign of Jean.

‘Can I see your driver’s licence?’

The driver looked surprised and shook his head. ‘We are waiting for job,’ he said, his accent thick. ‘Sorry, officer. We are painters. What is this? Are we doing wrong?’ His look of wide-eyed innocence would have been convincing had the passenger not fisted him in the leg with a muttered warning.

Harry didn’t understand what he’d said, but murmured, ‘Ah, Bosnians, I see. Now we’re getting somewhere.’ He decided to rattle them, to keep them off-balance. ‘Did Zubac and Ganic send you? Get you to keep an eye on a flat across the street?’

The driver’s mouth dropped open in recognition, but the passenger said something else and he snapped it shut again.

Rik said, ‘You’ve got a lot to say for yourself, sunshine.’ He pushed his gun forward until the barrel was resting against the passenger’s shoulder, which got his full attention. At such close range, there would be no dodging a bullet. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Painters,’ the passenger answered dully. ‘Like he said. You not police, so what you want?’ He stared at Harry with knowing contempt, but there was no hiding the doubt in his eyes. British police he understood; they had rules and regulations in situations such as this. But anyone else carrying guns in London was an unknown quantity, and therefore to be treated with caution.

Harry pushed the tip of his gun barrel up against the driver’s nose, forcing his head back so that his companion could see what would happen if he pulled the trigger. He didn’t care right now whether anyone saw them, he was growing angrier at the threat to Jean. ‘Wallets. Now!’ It was sharp and brutal, and the driver grunted with pain, his eyes streaming, but it achieved the desired effect. Both men handed over their wallets, which were of cheap leather and slim.

There wasn’t much to help. The driver’s name was Antun Goranuvic and his colleague was Davud. Brothers or cousins. There was no way of telling if they were their genuine names, and Harry doubted it mattered anyway. The wallets held a few notes in sterling and euros, some credit cards and one or two photos, but nothing to say who they worked for or where they came from.

He looked at Rik and nodded at his gun. ‘How many shells have you got in that since the last job?’

Rik didn’t miss a beat. He gave a lazy smile and said, ‘Enough. Why?’

‘Shoot them both. Now.’ Harry turned and walked away.

‘ Wait! ’ He had taken just three steps before the driver, who he figured was the weaker of the two, decoded the instruction and his nerve broke.

Harry turned back and stood by the window. Now it was the passenger who looked the most worried. His attitude was gone and his knuckles were clenched tight on his knees, the cloth wet with the spilled drink.

‘We have not seen her,’ he muttered. ‘The lady. I show you.’ He reached up and gingerly took a slip of paper from behind the sun-visor. It held Jean’s name and address written in ink and a photo clipped to one corner.

‘Who gave you this?’

There was a momentary hesitation before the driver said, ‘What you say before. . Zubac and Ganic. They came to us and said we should do this.’ He wasn’t looking at Harry, instead staring rigidly to his front as if holding on to the last bit of courage he could muster and not doing too well.

‘And what were you to do, exactly?’

‘Watch and report. That is all.’

‘Report where?’

But the man shook his head. ‘You will not shoot us. But the one who hires us. . for this he will kill us both.’ Harry saw his lip beginning to tremble and a sheen of sweat lining his forehead. He exchanged a look with Rik, who raised his eyebrows. Whoever had hired these two had got them terrified. He wondered how. They should be able to cobble together some kind of story about being caught napping, surely. It happened to everyone-

Then his instincts kicked in. He’d missed an obvious trick. Why were these two sitting out here in a red van? Red vans weren’t exactly uncommon, but nobody mounted a surveillance so openly. . unless they were meant to be seen. And these two being so petrified could only mean one thing: they knew they also were being watched. He leaned against the van and glanced surreptitiously along the street, following the driver’s line of sight. The only way these two would have been so easily scared was if they knew the watchers were close by. The street was getting busier, with several cars moving in each direction, gradually building towards peak traffic. Other vehicles were lining the kerb, including the FedEx truck a hundred yards away. The driver was sorting packages at the side door, then carrying them to a nearby shop.

There was too much going on; it was impossible to tell where the watcher might be.

‘Wait here.’ Harry stepped back from the van and rang Ballatyne. ‘I need a favour.’ He told the MI6 man where he was and why, and gave him the number of the van and the names of the two men. ‘Whoever employs these two has them scared. They won’t talk to me and I think someone else is in the area keeping an eye on them.’

‘Is Jean all right?’ He heard Ballatyne snap his fingers at someone in the background, already issuing instructions to get some men on the move.