Adrian Magson - No Tears for the Lost

When her inner clock said time was up, she drove the Land Cruiser past the broken police tape and up the drive. She skirted the fountain where Henry had taken his early bath and cruised the last two hundred yards to the front door. She turned and stopped with the nose of the car facing back down the drive.

As she turned off the lights and ignition, she looked up through the Plexiglas sun-roof and caught a flicker of movement against the sky. A silhouette of a man showed up on the roof of the house, peering over the parapet.

As she stepped clear of the car, she detected a smell of petrol in the air, and something burning, like old leaves.

Toby Henzigger opened the front door and beckoned her forward. He held a gun in one hand and was keeping most of his body behind cover. Riley walked across the gravel, taking care to keep her hands well away from her sides. She felt her scalp crawl at the idea of the man on the roof above her, and realised that if she’d stepped out of the car with a weapon in her hand, she’d have got no more than a few feet before being killed.

‘Jacket off. ‘ Toby signalled with his gun for her to stand against the wall just inside the door. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got under there.’ He sniggered at the double entendre.

Riley slid her jacket off and turned round. He took her mobile and dropped it into a tall Chinese vase on a side table. When he found the automatic, he looked surprised. He gave her a sharp look, then ejected the magazine and threw the gun to one side. It bounced off the marble floor and skidded under a chair.

‘You’re full of surprises, you know that? Guess you had to try, though, huh? I don’t blame you — I’d do the same.’ He gestured towards the stairs with his gun. ‘Okay, now we’re going upstairs, nice and slow. You try anything, like mule kicks or any of that chop-socky shit, I’ll shoot you in the back of the knee and let my three vaqueros finish you off. Then Myburghe gets it. You don’t need telling how they like to use knives, right?’ He chuckled nastily and stepped back a pace.

Riley stared at him, defying her nerves. ‘Toby,’ she told him as calmly as she could, ‘this isn’t going to end how you think. Why don’t you cut your losses and vanish? It’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?’

There was a two-beat pause. Henzigger blinked as if he might be seriously considering the idea, then shook his head once. There was a rancid smell about him, of stale sweat and cooked food, and Riley decided that personal hygiene probably took a back seat when someone was facing the ruination of all their plans. Especially when operating at the deep, murky end of the pool.

She slipped her jacket back on and walked up the broad stairway past the row of Myburghe ancestors, their eyes following in grim disapproval. Once on the landing, Henzigger grunted and motioned her to the right. The air smelled musty up here, as if the house needed a good airing, and she guessed Myburghe hadn’t bothered getting a cleaner in for a while. Henzigger kept his distance all the way, allowing her no opportunity to get too close.

He grunted again and indicated a room on the left, which Riley thought overlooked the rear of the house. It was plush and warm and the size of a small football pitch, and contained, among other things, a huge double bed. Somebody was lying on it.

Sir Kenneth Myburghe.

He was positioned with his body tilted sideways, and Riley thought he was dead until he opened his eyes and glared at Henzigger. Then she saw his hands were tied tightly behind him by a length of curtain rope. The former ambassador was dressed in shoes, pale trousers and a crumpled blue shirt. There was a vivid red mark on the side of his face, rapidly turning into a bruise. At least, she thought, he’s still alive.

‘What’s this,’ she said. ‘Did thieves fall out?’

‘Something like that,’ said Henzigger genially, settling himself against a large, ornate dresser, from where he could command the room. He lifted one foot and rested it on a steel briefcase, of the sort favoured by trendy city types. It looked heavy. ‘His Excellency, here, has just decided he doesn’t want to play with us blue collar types anymore. That’s a shame, because he’s been instrumental in clearing a route for us to ship in our product.’ He looked at Riley with a slight grin. ‘But I guess you know all about that, right? Portius is a real piece of work, isn’t he? I still have friends in the agency… they keep me up to speed about who’s doing what. Maybe I should get someone to visit with old Henry and do a number on his arms and legs. That’d stop him interfering. I do hate people who mess with my plans.’ He turned his head and looked at Myburghe, then raised the gun and sighted down the barrel. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Riley tensed, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop him. The distance between them was far too great, and with all his experience, Henzigger would kill Myburghe and calmly take her out as well before she got halfway across the room.

On the bed, Sir Kenneth stared dumbly at the gun, anticipating the bullet. The fact that he kept his eyes open was the nearest thing to courage Riley had seen him display, and she felt a grudging respect for him.

Henzigger grinned and made a loud ‘pow’ noise, then lowered the gun.

Myburghe flinched. His body seemed to deflate like a collapsing air mattress, and his face burned red with shame. It was soon obvious why, as a dark patch began to spread across the front of his pants.

‘For Christ’s sake, Henzigger!’ Riley protested, and felt contempt for Myburghe’s tormentor. Right then, all she wanted was for Palmer or Mitcheson to come through the door and shoot him.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Henzigger, and looked at Myburghe with an expression of disgust. ‘Wonder what your Queen Elizabeth would say about that? Anyway, what was I was saying? Oh, yes… Lord Pisspants, here, wants to renege on our deal, which, by the way, Riley, is paying for this pile of shit to be kept standing a few more years. Did you know that? So much for the honour and integrity of the diplomatic corps, huh? Thing is, the end part of the deal also included a plane out of here, nice and private. Just me and my friends. Only it’s all gone wrong and there ain’t no plane. Still, I got some of the money.’ He tapped the briefcase with his foot. ‘Unfortunately, I have no way of getting out. Which means I still need his help. Or yours.’

He turned and pointed the gun at her and smiled.

‘You must be joking,’ Riley muttered.

Henzigger shed the smile in an instant, his eyes going dark. ‘Joking? Actually, no. Let me show you.’

Without hesitation, he turned and shot Myburghe.

*************

The blast was deafening in the room, the shock waves making Riley’s ears ring. On the bed, Myburghe took the full force of the bullet and was flung over onto his front, a fine spray of blood fanning out across the bedspread, bright and vivid against the pale fabric. He groaned once and lay still.

Riley was stunned but took care not to move. Henzigger was watching her like a hawk, the gun now aimed at her. His hand was as steady as a rock.

‘That was a demonstration. I only winged him. You refuse me again, he gets another one. And believe me, I can keep this up for hours without killing him. I’ve done it before. Want to see?’

‘No!’ She felt nauseous with anger. She couldn’t see where Myburghe had been hit, but even a slight wound could kill him with the shock.

‘Perfect.’ Henzigger relaxed and blew down the gun barrel in a sick parody of an old-style gunfighter. Suddenly he was all geniality again. ‘Now we have a working understanding. Ironic, really, because those Colombians have been itching to do that for weeks. They may be peasants and have shit for brains, but they know how to read a man, you know? Low animal cunning, I guess. They figured he was going to be a liability long before I did. In fact, I was the only thing stood between them and him getting a taste of the blade.’