Tania Carver - Choked

He drove a Prius. And took a small delight in the fact that it confounded expectations. It was not the car of an assassin, but that was what he liked about it. It was both anonymous and environmentally friendly. That was good, because when he died, he wanted to leave as little trace of himself behind as possible. Like a footprint in damp sand, washed away by the incoming tide. The way it should be.

That was what he tried to achieve with his victims. There one second, gone the next. Simple and clean, like switching off a light.

He knew that one day it would happen to him. And he was ready for it. Every day he prepared for death, either to give it or take it. And every day that he gave it and didn’t take it he gave thanks.

But one day it would be him.

One day.

He was also pleased to get away from the Sloanes. They had been regular employers over the years. They paid what he asked and their assignments were not too taxing. They would have been good employers if not for the sister. She was getting to him. And he didn’t allow that. Something would have to be done about her. One way or the other.

Jaywick was signposted left. He turned left.

He drove. He was centred, prepared.

He was ready.

Marina followed the sat nav, her foot hard down as far as she dared. On the way to Jaywick. On the way to meet her daughter.

She had insisted that that was part of the deal. The voice hadn’t been too pleased. ‘After you’ve seen … ’ it nearly said a name, ‘your patient.’

‘Look.’ Marina kept her own voice as calm, as reasonable as she could. ‘I’ve already told you I’ll see your patient . I’ve agreed to that. But we’re negotiating here. And I won’t talk to him until I’ve seen my daughter and know that she’s safe.’

‘No,’ said the voice. ‘We’re not negotiating. You’re going to do what you’ve agreed to do and then you’ll get her back.’

Marina wanted to scream, to rage. If they had been there in front of her, she would have attacked. But she swallowed that down, kept her voice calm, controlled. She knew she would only get somewhere if she behaved like a professional. ‘No,’ she said, in as measured and slow a tone as she could manage, ‘this is a negotiation. You’ve told me what you want me to do. And I’ve agreed to do it. But that agreement comes with certain conditions attached. I want to see my daughter. If you won’t do that, then I go to the police and tell them everything.’

‘What’ll happen to your daughter then?’

Again Marina had to control herself until she was sure she could speak without screaming. ‘You’ll let her go. Because there would no reason for you to keep her. You’ve explained your plan to me. And without my help, there will be no plan.’

There was silence on the line. Marina waited. She was suddenly aware that she was shaking. She wished she felt as strong as she had made herself sound. She wondered if she had gone too far. If they didn’t go along with her proposal, she might never see Josephina again. She knew now what was at stake. She guessed that if they were desperate enough to kidnap her daughter to make this work, they wouldn’t stop there.

‘All right,’ the voice said. Anger and defeat in its tone. ‘You can see her. But then you do what we want. And you don’t get her back until you’ve done it. Right?’

She felt a wave of relief wash over her. ‘Thank you. Just make sure she’s safe.’

‘She’s safe. Now get going.’

The phone went dead. The postcode was texted for the sat nav. She entered it and drove.

As she did so, she thought about the voice. In the time she had been talking to it, it had evolved. It was no longer intransigent, unyielding; it could be reasoned with. She knew that happened in negotiations; sometimes whole relationships developed. The way this person spoke led her to believe they were an amateur. A professional wouldn’t have engaged with her on any level. If she had made demands, been obstinate or refused to play, a professional would have harmed her daughter, even executed her.

This person — or persons — was reachable, and Marina felt a glimmer of hope at that thought. Perhaps the initial intransigence was down to fear, she thought. Perhaps they didn’t know what they were doing and had hidden behind a character.

She was glad now that she had left a clue. Just a small one, at the service station. She just hoped that someone had seen it, would be clever enough to work out what she had done, and follow her.

She kept driving. Hoping her daughter was all right. Wishing her husband was there with her.

Trying desperately to be brave, for their sake.

The Golem’s sat nav told him he had reached his destination. He turned the engine off, took in his surroundings. Worked out logistics, made plans. Studied approaches, possible obstacles. The house was old, dilapidated. Detached. No neighbours to interfere. There was a caravan at the side, in as bad a state as the house. Two cars parked in front of the house.

He scanned once more, searching for other exits. To the back of the house were fields. To the side, fields also. To the front, the secluded road the Golem had parked on. If they wanted to leave, they would have to come past him.

Good.

He opened the glove box, took out a small telephoto lens. Looked through it. Scanned the front of the house for alarms, wires, anything that told of security. He knew the lengths people went to hide such devices, knew what to look for, what the giveaways were. A new wire on an old building, sometimes painted to blend in, the shade always slightly out. The raised outline of sensors on window frames, door catches. A rusted old alarm box mounted on the wall, seemingly not working, concealing a state-of-the-art security system. He had seen it all.

But this house seemed to be exactly what it said it was. He could detect nothing that wasn’t meant to be there.

Another good sign. The omens were becoming auspicious for this job.

He turned the lens on the caravan, just in time to see a woman leave the house and walk towards it. Beside her was a small girl. She was holding her wrist, half dragging her along. The Golem studied the body language of the two. The girl looked like she was being held against her will and had been crying. The woman looked stressed, like she just wanted everything concluded as quickly as possible.

In another life, the Golem would have been upset about the little girl, shared some empathy for her situation. But not any more. Now it was just a job. He had his instructions: take the man and the woman out, any way he wanted. The other man should be brought to the Sloanes. The little girl … use his discretion.

He scanned the borders once more. If they saw him coming, all they could do was run. That would make his job more difficult, but not impossible. They wouldn’t get far. Not with him blocking the entrance to the main road.

A line of trees fringed the road. He could use them for cover as he made his way down there. Good. He got out of the car, locked it. Started to walk, keeping in the shade of the trees, not allowing his own shadow to be cast in the open.

He looked once more at the house. Despite the sunshine, the place carried an air of depression. As if whoever lived here had reached the end.

How true, he thought.

As he walked, he saw movement in one of the ground-floor windows of the house. He stopped, took out the lens once more. A man was sitting at a table, laptop before him.

He would be the first target.

He put the lens away, walked on. Reached the house, rounded the corner.

Then the dogs started to bark.

‘This is Josephina. Josephina, this is … ’ The woman thought for a few seconds. She seemed to have genuinely forgotten Tyrell’s name.