Tom Wood - The Enemy

‘He’s clean.’

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Georg said to Victor. ‘It would have been very bad for you had we found anything.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘Your German’s excellent,’ Georg said, taking two steps closer. ‘But you’re not German. What are you, American?’

‘Sometimes,’ he answered.

Lines deepened in Georg’s forehead. ‘You’re really not what I was expecting.’

‘You said that once already.’

‘Let me explain myself.’

Victor brought the cup to his lips and swallowed.

‘In my line of work I meet all kinds of people, all different, but what I get for them tells me a lot about who they are. Let’s take you, for example. You don’t have to say what you do for a living as what you’re buying might as well be a business card.’

Victor remained stationary and silent. He didn’t know where Georg was headed, and he didn’t care, but it seemed polite not to interrupt.

‘I’m not sure what the correct euphemism is these days but I’ve dealt with your kind before,’ Georg continued. ‘Not often, but more than a few times. And when I have I’ve always been able to analyse that person completely within seconds of us meeting. It’s not difficult. They try so hard to make out they’re fearsome when they’re actually not, else they really are that scary and they don’t need to try.’ She paused. ‘But you’re neither.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘I’m not sure I meant it as one.’

‘I’ll still take it as a compliment.’

Georg stepped closer and stared hard at Victor. Her eyes were bloodshot, pupils dilated. On something stronger than just nicotine. ‘I’m really not going to find out who you are, am I?’

‘No,’ Victor said. ‘And you wouldn’t want to.’

‘A shame.’ Georg sighed and perched herself on a crate and used a hand to wipe something from her jeans. ‘Let’s do some business.’

Victor nodded. ‘I take it you have all the goods on the list.’

Georg counted off on her fingers as she said, ‘Russian army blasting caps, nine-millimetre pistol with threaded barrel, silencer, pick gun, and fourteen pounds of cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine with the bits to make it go ka-boom. Did I pronounce that right, by the way?’

‘You did,’ Victor assured. ‘I want to check everything.’

‘Of course, my boy, I would have expected nothing less. You’re a professional, after all.’ She drew out the words. ‘But so am I. And I’d like to see the money first.’

With his free hand, Victor slowly reached into an outer pocket. He did so while closely watching what the muscle and the guide were doing. There were no tension-relieving gestures, no shifting of weight, nothing to suggest they were waiting to put a pre-planned course of action into play when he showed he had the money. Satisfied this wasn’t an ambush, Victor withdrew the slim bundle of hundred-euro notes.

Georg dropped down from the crate and inched closer. She stared at the money. ‘That doesn’t look like enough to me.’

‘It’s half of it.’

Georg’s eyes rose to meet Victor’s. She spoke quietly, menacingly. ‘Then you’ve not only wasted my time but insulted me. And neither is a very wise move for a man in your position.’

‘After I have the goods you can come with me to pick up the rest of the money,’ Victor explained. ‘Or send one of your men to do so.’

‘That’s not how I do business.’

‘And ferries, empty warehouses and guards with forty-fives aren’t how I do business,’ Victor countered. ‘This is the price you pay for how things have been conducted thus far.’

The muscle touched a hand to his gun. His expression was half-surprised, half-annoyed. Georg considered for a few seconds.

‘What’s to stop me taking that money and having the location of the second half beaten out of you?’

The guide and the muscle both stiffened in readiness for what might follow.

Victor kept his gaze locked on Georg. ‘One, you’d lose a valuable future customer. And two,’ he said, voice calm, emotionless. ‘I’d kill you and your men inside ten seconds.’

The muscle didn’t like that answer. His scowl intensified and his knuckles whitened. The guide’s back straightened. Victor ignored them both. He watched Georg’s reaction, first shock and anger that eventually became a smile and Victor knew he’d played it correctly.

‘Okay,’ she said, ‘we’ll do it your way.’

Victor heard them a few seconds before he saw them. They entered fast, through the entrance on the wall next to the sink — five men full of intent, four with guns in hand. One shotgun. Three handguns. They didn’t move or look like trained professionals but the way they held their weapons showed they were no strangers to violence.

The muscle reacted fast, turning and reaching for the Colt but a shout to stop and muzzles pointed his way made him think twice. The guide showed the palms of his hands while Georg kicked a crate in anger, or disgust or both.

Victor remained as he was. Aside from the elevator there was no exit close enough to risk moving to, and no way to get the shutter opened and closed before bullets started taking pieces out of him. Until he knew what was happening, there was nothing else he could do.

As he entered, the last of the intruders shouted, ‘Ah, my dear Georg. Fancy finding you here.’

He was short, slight of build, dressed in a cheap suit. His hands were free of weapons but Victor paid him the most attention. The others moved closer and spread out, one covering Georg, the guide and Victor. Two at the muscle. The one with the shotgun pointed it at Victor. Typical.

Georg held her arms out questioningly. ‘What are you doing here, Krausse?’

The man in the cheap suit stepped into the light. He was maybe forty years old. His thinning hair was black and short. Pockmarks covered the skin of his cheeks and forehead.

‘I could ask you the same thing, Georg,’ Krausse said, glancing around. ‘But it looks to me like you’re conducting some business, and without my prior knowledge.’

‘Get out of here, Krausse,’ Georg shouted, ‘and take your clowns with you. What we’re doing has nothing to do with you.’

‘Oh, but it does,’ Krausse laughed. ‘We’re business partners, remember?’

‘We were,’ Georg corrected.

Malice was in Krausse’s smile. ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ He looked at Victor. ‘Who’s the suit?’

‘What does it matter? He’s no one.’

‘It matters.’ Krausse gestured Victor’s way. ‘Who are you?’

Victor stood casually. ‘Like she said, no one.’

‘You will be no one if you don’t tell me what you’re doing here.’

Victor glanced at each of Krausse’s men. The three with handguns were twitchy — lots of little movements, swallowing. Light caught the sweat on their skin. The one with the shotgun was calmer, more focused, his small eyes barely blinking. The nostrils of his flat, misshapen nose flexed with relaxed, regular breaths.

After a moment Victor said, ‘I’m making a buy.’

‘And what are you buying?’

‘Flowers for my mother.’

A couple of Krausse’s men smiled.

Krausse exhaled. ‘Funny fucker, aren’t you?’

‘I’m reading a joke book.’

Georg looked over a shoulder. ‘Do us all a favour and stay quiet.’

‘That’s good advice,’ Krausse said. ‘We don’t have to get unpleasant. I’m just here to take my rightful share of any transactions.’

‘You mean you’re here to steal,’ Georg said.

Krausse smirked in response. ‘If that’s how you want to put it, my sweet, I’m not going to argue.’ He turned to Victor. ‘What are you buying? And think about your answer before you speak this time.’