Майкл Ридпат - The Predator

‘Not quite,’ said Eric calmly. ‘I’m working on getting it back under control. And remember, if you hadn’t told Lenka about Alex, none of this would have happened.’

Ian sighed. His head throbbed. He closed his eyes. Eric was right. He remembered the night when he had opened this whole can of worms. It was very late, at Lenka’s flat. They had just had sex. Great sex. Lenka was talking about how she had met Marcus that day. Ian was a little tired, a little high; his brain wasn’t working quite right. He had smiled and said it was funny that it wasn’t even Duncan’s fault that Alex had died. Lenka was suddenly wide awake. She wanted to know what he was talking about. Ian tried to deny that he had meant anything, but she knew he had. She pressed him hard, assaulting him with a barrage of questions. His resistance quickly broke down. He had wanted to tell someone for years, and Lenka suddenly seemed the right person. So he told her he had seen Eric drown Alex. It turned out Lenka was not the right person at all. She exploded. Within ten minutes, Ian found himself outside in the Old Brompton Road looking for a cab.

Lenka told Ian that she was going to tell Marcus. Ian told Eric. And then Lenka was dead.

‘We both screwed up,’ said Ian. ‘But there’s no need to make things worse.’

‘You’re right, there isn’t,’ said Eric. ‘I think it’s very important that you keep quiet. Because you know what will happen to you if you don’t.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘Of course,’ said Eric quietly. ‘And you know I’ll carry it out if necessary.’

Ian felt a surge of anger. Somehow, he had been under Eric’s thumb ever since Alex had drowned. At the time, it had seemed smart to let Eric take control and sort things out. Eric, who always seemed to have an answer for everything. Well, it was clear now that that had been a mistake. Eric had more to lose than Ian. It was time Ian took the upper hand.

He lit another cigarette. ‘Shouldn’t I be the one threatening you?’ he said, straining to make his voice sound calm and authoritative.

‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ Eric answered coolly.

‘Why not? You killed Alex. You had Lenka killed. Just get off my back, or I’ll tell people what I know.’

Ian had hoped that this would rattle Eric. But it didn’t.

Eric watched Ian for a long minute. Ian tried to smoke his cigarette calmly, but he couldn’t help shifting in his chair. Eventually, his thumb drifted up to his lips, and he gnawed at the nail.

Eric smiled, a smug self-confident smile, a declaration of his superiority. ‘Nobody threatens me,’ he said, and left the table, just as the waiter was bringing the croissants.

Terry was waiting for Eric at Charles de Gaulle. Eric ushered him to one of those quiet dead spaces in airports that are not on the way from one place to another, nor outside anywhere important. They sat in a pair of isolated chairs. The only person in earshot was a cleaner.

‘Well, boss?’ Terry asked.

Eric sighed and puffed out his cheeks. ‘Ian’s unreliable. Deal with him.’

‘Same bonus as last time?’

Eric nodded.

Terry smiled. Eric paid a very good bonus.

‘All go well in Cambridge?’ Eric asked.

‘I got in OK. Left the knife. Got out. No one saw me.’

‘Do you think it will scare her?’

‘Oh, yes. It’ll scare her,’ said Terry. ‘But are you sure that’ll be enough?’

‘We can’t leave dead bodies all over the place,’ Eric said. ‘Every one increases the risk we’ll get caught. I think it’ll help that each is in a different country, but if some cop somewhere puts together the fact that they were all on the same boat ten years ago, we’re in trouble.’

Terry nodded non-committally. But Eric picked up the implication. Terry thought Eric was being soft on Megan because she used to be his girlfriend. Well, he was right. Eric really didn’t want to kill her if he could avoid it. In fact, he hadn’t really wanted to kill any of them. But after Alex, one led to another.

And he had had to kill Alex. If he hadn’t, he would have no chance of fulfilling his destiny. Eric had always known he was an exceptionally able person, he had known it ever since he was a small child. There was no class he couldn’t come top of, no job he couldn’t get, no competition he couldn’t win. From childhood, he had assumed that he had been given this extraordinary talent for a purpose, and the purpose seemed to him to be to lead his country. He could do it. He had the talent. He could earn the money. Hell, he even had the luck. And he was certain that once he was in high office, or even the highest office, he would do the job well. Eric knew that his ambition was far beyond most mortals. But he was confident it wasn’t beyond him.

Alex and a few grams of white powder would have put a stop to all that. He couldn’t let it.

‘Let’s hope we’ve scared them off,’ Eric said. ‘But if that doesn’t work, I have another idea.’ He checked his watch. ‘I’ve got to go. My flight leaves in twenty minutes. Good luck.’

‘Thanks, boss,’ said Terry, and they parted.

Eric passed through the security check and passport control, and made his way to the gate. The flight to London Heathrow had been called, but the queue was a long one, so he had a couple of minutes. He dialled a number on his mobile.

‘Hello?’

He recognized the voice. It had changed little in the last nine years. ‘Megan? It’s Eric’

There was silence for a second. Then he heard her voice. ‘Eric?’ It was little more than a whisper.

‘That’s right. How are you doing?’

‘Er... OK. I guess.’

‘Good. That’s great. Look, I know we haven’t seen each other in a long time, but I’m in London for a meeting tomorrow, and I’ve got some time this afternoon. I just thought it would be good to see you. After what happened to Lenka and everything.’

‘Um, OK.’ Megan sounded hesitant. ‘Where are you?’

‘At the airport.’ Eric was careful not to say which airport. ‘I’ve got one or two things to do, but I might be able to get up to Cambridge by three.’

‘All right. Three o’clock is fine. Ask at the porter’s lodge and they’ll give you directions.’

‘OK,’ said Eric. ‘See you then.’

Chris stared at the rings of white bubbles on the surface of his beer, oblivious of the growing noise around him as the Hampstead pub filled up with the Sunday lunch-time crowd. Duncan had rung him at about eleven that morning and suggested a pint, and Chris had been happy to agree. There was a lot he wanted to discuss with him.

But all Chris could think of was Megan. These people weren’t messing around. Although he had been happy with his decision to risk his own neck, he couldn’t risk hers: she was just too important to him. A flood of helplessness overwhelmed him. Keeping Megan safe implied sitting back and doing nothing, and he hated that idea. It meant letting Lenka’s killer get away with it. But he had no choice.

He was jolted from his thoughts by the thud of a beer glass on his table. Duncan sat down on the small stool opposite him, bringing with him a blast of good cheer. ‘Hi, Chris. How’s the market been treating you?’ he asked, by way of useless small talk.

‘Crap,’ said Chris.

‘Oh. And how are you?’

‘Crap also.’

‘Well, never mind. I have some good news.’

‘Impossible.’

‘No. Very possible. Remember your lunch with Khalid?’

‘I do,’ said Chris, thinking he scarcely had the patience to tolerate Duncan freeloading more information off him.

‘He said he’s interested in all those weirdo government bond markets you trade in. Apparently, he was very impressed with you. He asked me if he can put money in your fund rather than into the market directly. He’d like to watch how you perform for a year or so, and then perhaps try it for himself.’