E. Seymour - Final Target

‘What are you doing down there?’

‘Care to join me?’

She let out a big indulgent sigh and stomped down the stone steps and into the confined space. I moved aside so that she could stand underneath an arched entrance that provided her with about a half-brick’s worth of shelter. This being nothing more than a ruse to get her where I wanted her, I pounced, my gloved hands flat against the door on either side of her shoulders, my body pinning hers – no escape. She let out gasp of alarm when she saw the cold expression in my eyes.

‘Back off,’ she hissed.

‘Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on.’

When McCallen is on the spot she makes a sound: tsk.

‘Did you tip off Mossad?’ Mossad was not involved, but I wanted to see how McCallen would react.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘How do you explain what happened in Berlin?’

‘I don’t know what happened.’

‘Yes, you do. Someone tried to kill me and missed.’

‘You can’t know that.’

‘Unless you can tell me that the guy who took a bullet had a criminal past, or was one of yours, I can.’

She didn’t say a word, just stared at me.

‘He was clean, wasn’t he?’ I said.

‘It’s early days, but there’s nothing to suggest he had dodgy connections.’

‘So, again, why would someone take such a risk?’ From left field, it occurred to me, and not for the first time, that the hit man was a beginner, making mistakes while learning his craft. Good. Errors cost lives, starting with his.

She raised her eyes heavenwards as if I were being particularly dim. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘Not to me.’

She stamped one foot. ‘There are any number of people who’d like to see you dead.’

True. ‘Are you one of them?’

‘No.’

‘So who did you tip off?’

She threw me an empty smile. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Why would I?’

‘To further your career.’

Her eyes turned a deadly venomous green. ‘You think that of me?’

‘I do.’

She emitted a breath of cold air. Colour spotted her cheeks. She was angry, all right.

‘I came to you with one purpose in mind, to find out who threatened and killed Lars.’

‘You cynically risked my neck because you cut corners and your boyfriend got offed.’

‘He was not my boyfriend and that’s not true.’

‘You didn’t risk my neck, or he’s not your boyfriend?’ I glowered. ‘I met Mathilde Brommer, McCallen. I know exactly how close you got to Lars. He was going to marry you.’ I had not intended to say this. Her eyes widened. She seemed genuinely shaken. ‘Well?’ I said.

Recovering herself with speed, she threw me a look as fierce as a Russian babushka from Siberia. ‘I never promised to marry Lars. He was not my boyfriend.’

‘So you keep saying, but you did seduce him, right?’

‘Not in the way you mean.’

I bit back a dark smile. ‘Is there another way?’

‘It’s not –’

‘You stole him from a girl he’d loved for more than a decade.’

‘Not like you to be romantic. Come to think of it, why are you so bothered?’

‘Because what you did stinks.’

McCallen gave a dry laugh. ‘Pretty rich coming from a contract killer.’

‘A former contract killer,’ I reminded her.

She pursed her lips as though it made no difference. So much for her vote of confidence about my powers of redemption.

‘He was a grown-up,’ she said. ‘Lars could make up his own mind.’

‘So you don’t deny it?’

‘I’m not answerable to you.’ Her eyes locked with mine.

‘Do you use every man you meet?’

She wriggled free and punched me hard in the chest. The blow would have rocked most men. It didn’t work but it did succeed in making me even angrier than I already was. My life had been trundling along quite nicely, if a little uneventfully, until McCallen showed up.

‘All in the line of duty, was it?’ In the absence of a reply, I launched another accusation. ‘You’re a damn liar.’

‘It’s what I’m paid for.’ She stared at me with a get over it expression.

‘So what’s the real story?’

A pulse ticked in her neck. ‘Someone is out to get me.’

‘You already said.’

‘And out to get you.’

‘Old news.’

‘After Lars was killed I received a phone call at my home address.’

This got my attention. ‘From whom?’

‘The voice was distorted.’

‘And?’

‘He said that Lars had been killed as payback.’

‘Payback for what?’

‘Billy Squeeze.’ My mind flashed to Chester Phipps.

‘You said “He”.’

‘Yes.’ She shook her head, as though I simply wasn’t getting it. ‘Billy Squeeze made the call.’

I let out a dry, cynical laugh. ‘Ridiculous. Billy’s dead. I killed him.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘If you have to lie, at least make it a good one,’ I said.

‘I’m not lying.’

‘So all the stuff about Lars and his right-wing connections was an elaborate smokescreen?’

‘Not at all.’ She looked most put out.

When I spoke next my voice was clipped. ‘Lars had no interest in Benz. In fact he loathed the man. Lars stood about as much chance of penetrating his outfit as me running for Parliament.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘Which was why I finally decided he’d be no good for the job.’

‘Was that after you’d slept with him or before?’

She issued another cold, sullen look. No way was she getting away with silence. I’d drag it out of her if I had to. ‘No matter,’ I said. ‘And next you dispensed with his services?’

‘Correct.’

‘But by then he was in love with you.’

‘It happens.’

‘Really?’

She ignored my question.

‘Whatever you asked the poor guy to do, he did because of you.’ The irony that I’d also risked exposure for McCallen did not escape me. ‘If anyone got him killed, you did.’

She glanced down, chewed her lip. The fabric of her jacket shivered. ‘His death,’ she said, clearing her throat, ‘the fact that Lars had begged to meet me on the day he died made me less certain about him. I wondered if I’d missed something. I thought he might have been compromised, or that I’d read him wrong.’

‘Which was why you dragged me into it – to find out.’

‘Yes.’

Except I had discovered nothing new. In truth, I hadn’t been in Berlin long enough to check Lars out, let alone Benz. ‘You rinsed me.’

‘I did not.’

‘And now you’re switching your story.’

‘I am not switching my story.’

‘Of course not, you’ve just dragged Billy back from the dead for a little local colour.’

‘For God’s sake, I –’

‘Why didn’t you mention Billy before?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘Not to me.’

‘Because first I needed to be sure about Lars.’

‘It didn’t occur to you that you were putting me in danger?’

‘You’re a big boy who can take care of himself.’ She flashed a smile in a vain attempt to lighten the mood. I wasn’t buying into it.

‘This is what I think.’ I poked her hard in the chest. ‘You’re feeding me titbits to see how much I swallow.’

The spots of colour on her cheek flamed crimson. I straightened up. ‘You know what? I don’t trust you. I don’t believe you and you can go to hell.’

She shouted something after me, but I was already up the steps, crossing the graveyard, back towards Henrietta Street. There was no use denying it. Like a fond greeting wrapped in barbed wire, McCallen was lethal to my physical and mental health and well-being. What angered me most was that I’d fallen for it.