Renegade, p.11
Renegade, page 11
‘I’m fine, thank you.’
There were a few moments of awkward silence. At least, for Haan. Fischer held her eye.
‘I hear you’ve been having issues getting to the bottom of who robbed me,’ Fischer said.
‘We will get there.’ Haan winced.
Robbed. Not tried to rob. Haan was one of the few people who’d now been let in on the truth. She’d since been told that while the looters hadn’t achieved the aim of getting into the vault, where much of Fischer’s physical wealth was stored, they had managed to break into a safe in the master bedroom, taking with them nothing but pieces of paper.
However, these were pieces of paper upon which were printed several dozen strings of digits and numbers. Seemingly random, those strings of digits and numbers equated to the IDs for cryptocurrency wallets that held virtual assets to the tune of more than two hundred million dollars.
Two hundred million dollars now missing.
‘I remember when I first interviewed you for this role,’ Fischer said. He leaned forward and took the tumbler in his hand, sipped, and placed it back down again. ‘I’ll admit, I was a little wary.’
Haan’s eyes narrowed. ‘You were?’
‘Too good to be true. You know the saying.’
‘Yeah.’
‘That was my immediate thought.’
He leaned back in his chair. His demeanour was slowly changing, second by second. The usual outer cheer was dropping away, replaced by something more flat and stoic.
‘You don’t have anything to say?’
Haan looked around to Chester, who was at the bookcase, arms folded as she glared at Haan.
‘I’m sorry you felt that way.’
He sniffed. ‘My point is that here was a young woman who had everything I needed. Well educated, speaks five languages fluently, you were a martial arts champion at nine years old, spent several years in the army before becoming a close-protection security specialist. You had the brain, the training, and you’d been there and done it all.’
‘You’re saying those are bad things?’ Haan asked.
‘Absolutely not. What I said was it was too good to be true. And when I met you that first time... I mean, wow, you’re a striking young woman too. You’re articulate, engaging.’
‘A hell of a lot of flattery.’
Haan’s slightly snarky tone elicited a hint of a smile from Fischer but his seriousness soon returned.
‘I couldn’t quite believe it,’ Fischer stated. ‘You even had that dark streak to you that’s so important for a boss as unflinching as Kathy.’
Something of a snide look from Fischer now. Well, of course, all of Chester’s team had to have a dark streak to them. Just look at some of the things she got them to do.
‘If I’d asked someone to come up with the perfect candidate, every single attribute I could possibly need for my personal security team, then you, Daisy Haan, would be it.’
‘I’m sensing this isn’t actually a good thing, though,’ Haan said.
‘It is, and it isn’t. Seriously, it’s almost as if you were put together specifically for this role. A perfect fit, some kind of manufactured robot.’
He smiled at his own words. Haan didn’t find his challenge remotely funny, and the hard look on her face showed it. And concealed the worry curdling her insides as to where Fischer was going with this.
‘And you must know how thoroughly we screen potential new recruits. After all, that’s an area you now take an active role in yourself.’
‘I do.’
‘And I hear you’re damned good with computers. Hacking, researching.’
‘One of my many talents.’
‘Indeed. So I’m sure you’ll be a huge help as we try to trace my missing money.’
Haan briefly looked to Chester again. ‘You know I will. But you’ll also know cryptocurrency transactions can be nearly impossible to trace to individuals without additional indicators.’
Fischer rolled his eyes. ‘But nearly impossible is not the same thing as impossible is it?’
‘No. It’s not.’
‘Good. Back to my point, do you know what we found when we screened you?’
‘Nothing you didn’t like, I’m presuming, seeing as I got the job.’
‘Apparently so.’
Fischer paused the bizarre conversation as he sipped from his coffee cup. He held Haan’s eye the whole time.
‘I paid a visit to our friend,’ Fischer said when his cup was drained.
His comment hung in the air. Seconds passed, each one more uncomfortable than the last.
‘Which friend?’ Haan said eventually.
‘Downstairs. What a mess.’
‘Him, or the situation?’
‘Both. Not a nice thing to see.’
He shook his head solemnly.
‘We are doing everything we can to figure out who those intruders were,’ Haan said.
‘Oh, absolutely, I’m sure you will. It’s just that I heard... no, it’s best not to spread tittle-tattle.’
He looked away. Pure nonchalance.
‘Sorry?’ Haan’s hackles raised – exactly as she was sure he’d intended. She couldn’t give a crap who Fischer was, she wouldn’t sit there with all these unspoken accusations, even if a growing part of her was terrified at where the conversation was going. ‘I’m working my ass off trying to get results for–’
‘You are? Oh. Okay.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, that’s great. A woman with your experience, your capabilities, I mean... the biggest surprise to me, the biggest problem, is that we’re now more than forty-eight hours after the event and you have the grand total of piss all to show for it.’
Haan gritted her teeth, but kept silent. Now his barriers were down. Was this the real Bastian Fischer? The one the general public never got to see?
‘Which makes me wonder. Why haven’t we got any results yet? What are you not doing that you should be doing?’
‘I’m not sure what you were told, but we have plenty of results. We know our runner’s face. We’re searching for a name that fits. Same for the rest of his crew, but it does take time to do this quietly, and believe me, it’s much harder to check these things, even through our channels, when we’re using photos of corpses.’
Fischer looked from Haan to Chester now, as though Haan’s response was a little unexpected. But which part?
There was a buzzing sound over by Chester. Haan glanced over to see her lifting her phone from her suit pocket.
‘Sorry, just give me a minute.’
She turned and moved to the corner of the room as she answered. Haan switched her gaze back to Fischer who was now giving her a hard glare. Neither of them said a word, and the knot in Haan’s stomach continued to build. Even though Fischer was hardly being direct in whatever accusations he was trying to lay on Haan, she reckoned her chances of walking out of this mansion alive were diminishing by the minute.
But why now?
‘Great work,’ Chester said into the phone as she came over to Fischer’s side. He looked up at her expectantly as she ended the call and pulled the phone from her ear. She stared at the screen.
‘We have a result,’ Chester told Fischer. ‘Our runner.’
She looked at Haan. More of a glare really. A ping on her phone.
‘Here he is,’ she said, turning the screen and holding it out for Fischer. ‘Adam Wheeler. British national.’
Fischer took the phone, his eyes fixed firmly on what was no doubt a profile picture of Wheeler.
Chester shot Haan another look. ‘This didn’t come through the face recognition request,’ she said.
‘No?’ Fischer said.
He and Chester shared another look. What on earth? So how had they found Wheeler? What did Chester have going that Haan wasn’t part of?
After a few moments, Fischer handed the phone back then fixed his gaze on Haan once more.
‘Adam Wheeler,’ he said. ‘Does that name mean anything to you?’
‘No,’ Haan lied. ‘But I’ll get onto finding him straight away.’
‘You do that,’ Fischer said. Haan got to her feet. ‘But, Daisy? It’s time to convince me just how good you are. Because you know what happens around here to people who make mistakes.’
20
Ryker was surprised when he turned back into the lane to see two vehicles parked outside the garage. The same Mercedes that he was sure he’d witnessed leave minutes earlier, plus a dark-grey Range Rover.
His mind flitted back to the scene on Monday morning when Parker had been whisked away. Two Range Rovers, both pristine black. One of those Range Rovers had crashed and was now in the custody of the Met. Or MI5. The other Range Rover was still missing. Was it possible this was the same one? A quick respray and change of plates to make it useable?
As Ryker carried on toward the garage, he took a couple of pictures of the vehicles. When he reached the Mercedes he stared through the windscreen to the bottom corner of the dashboard. The VIN number was clearly visible. Ryker took a picture. He moved over to the Range Rover. Looked in the same position. This time the VIN was blacked out.
‘What are you doing?’
Ryker spun around to see a man standing at the now open side door to the garage. The same man who’d come from inside earlier, to greet Tufan and his friends. Ryker peeled away from the Range Rover and moved toward him.
‘I need my car fixed.’
The man looked dubious, and his eyes flicked from Ryker to the street beyond.
‘What car?’
‘It’s broken down.’
‘We’re not a recovery service.’
‘Then what are you?’
Ryker was now only five steps from the man. He paused. The man was clearly wary. Why hadn’t he run back inside to raise the alarm?
‘We’re a private business. We only deal with clients we know.’
‘Like Yunus Akkan?’
Now the man screwed up his face. ‘Who the fu–’
Ryker drove forward and grabbed the man around the neck. He swept his legs away, spun him around, sunk down and pulled him into a sleeper hold. Ryker squeezed and held on tight as the man writhed and spluttered, the pressure on his carotid artery starving his brain of oxygen. The man’s legs scrabbled on the ground. Within seconds his movements became sluggish...
He went limp. Unconscious.
Ryker glanced along the street. No one to be seen. He dragged the man over the threshold and closed the door softly behind him. With two cable-ties from his pocket, he hog-tied the man. If he woke up, he’d be able to shout out, but at least he wouldn’t be able to run for help.
Ryker straightened up. He was in a corridor, with three doors leading from it on the right and one at the far end. His heart rattled in his chest, his breathing a little heavier than before the one-sided altercation. He took a few moments to compose himself.
Muffled voices in the distance. Beyond the door at the end of the corridor, which was slightly ajar – the door to the garage, he thought.
Then another noise. Not muffled at all. A man shouting. Howling in pain.
Ryker cautiously moved forward. Another pain-filled shout. This time followed by laughter. Then a booming, anger-filled voice.
Ryker passed the first door on his right. A kitchen. Second door. Office. No one inside. All the while the sounds from the garage were getting louder and louder. He passed by the final door on the right. Another office space, empty. The garage door was only a few yards in front of him now.
Ryker glanced over his shoulder. The bound man lay unmoving by the front door. That was good. Ryker continued moving. He soon came to the last door, that was open all of three inches. He pulled up against the wall. Then peeped through the gap. He could see nothing but shelving and car parts.
He reached forward tentatively and pushed the door open three more inches. A scream of pain caused him to freeze. Steeling himself against what he was about to see, he moved his head into the widened gap.
His eyes fell upon the bundle on the floor covered with a bloodied tarpaulin. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what lay beneath.
Ryker pushed his head another inch inside. Saw three men on their feet with their backs to him. They were gathered over a workbench of sorts.
A workbench upon which lay a man. Naked.
His skin glistened red. His head... little could be seen of it because it was stuck between the jaws of an industrial vice.
One of the men rotated the vice’s lever a half-turn and there was a sickening cry of pain.
Ryker tensed. Then the man at the workbench took a sidestep. Ryker’s eyes widened. Two more men were now in view. One was glaring down in disgust at the man in the vice.
Yunus Akkan.
In front of him, on his knees, hands tied behind him, blood covering his cloak of tattoos... Tufan.
His weary eyes flicked up. He spotted Ryker. There was a pause as both men eyeballed each other. Ryker didn’t contemplate running. Yes, it was best to avoid confrontation if possible, but he wasn’t about to run off to save his own backside while two young men were tortured to death. Only two men, because Ryker was sure the third, under the tarpaulin, was already dead.
Tufan opened his mouth, and bellowed like a strangled cat.
21
Ryker burst into the room. He grabbed the first thing he could reach from a shelf to his left. A weighty monkey wrench. That would do.
Two yards in and Akkan had spotted Ryker. Infuriated, Akkan backstepped, dragging Tufan in front of him as a cover. Akkan’s three minions had all turned to Ryker. One began shuffling back too. Whether to protect the boss or because he wasn’t up to this, Ryker didn’t know, and he didn’t care.
The remaining two...
Both big. Both ham-fisted. Both snarling and snapping like angry dogs. The one on the left reached behind him and pulled a handgun from the back of his jeans. Ryker raced forward, and in the second before the gunman could fire, arced his arm back and hurled the wrench.
As the tool spun through the air, the gunman ducked and threw up his arm. The wrench clattered into his forearm. Ryker smashed into the man, took him off his feet like an NFL lineman, and slammed him into the concrete floor.
The gun clanked away.
Ryker lifted his arm and threw his fist down onto the man’s throat. The guy’s eyes bulged as he rasped for breath. Ryker hit him in the same spot again.
He was about to jump to his feet when he realised the third guy, the one backstepping with his boss, was now pointing a gun at Ryker.
Too late to attack him.
Ryker grabbed the choking guy he was on top of and rolled them both over just as the gun was fired. Three shots boomed. The man’s body pulsed as the bullets tore into him. Luckily his frame was thick enough to stop the bullets boring through and into Ryker.
But Ryker knew he needed to act before the guy had unloaded the whole magazine.
The loose gun was right next to Ryker. He reached out, grabbed it. Took aim and fired. A leg shot sent the gunman down. The next shot caught him in the shoulder. Ryker adjusted and fired at the last of the goons who was racing toward him, knife in hand.
Wrong weapon for this fight, which was no doubt why he’d chosen not to attack already.
Ryker fired again. Two more shots. One to the knee, the other in the gut. The latter wasn’t Ryker’s intention, but the guy had twisted too much from the first shot.
Ryker heaved the now dead lump off him. Blood smeared onto his own jacket and jeans as he did so. He hauled himself to his feet. The other two men, still alive, were on the ground, groaning in pain. Ryker didn’t put them out of their misery. No need. They wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.
He looked over to Akkan. A few yards further away now. No gun. But he did have a knife in his hand. He still looked angry. Tufan, at his feet, looked petrified.
‘Probably best if you put that down, don’t you think?’ Ryker said as he knelt down and grabbed first the knife, and then the gun from the fallen men. He tossed the knife and emptied the gun of its remaining ammunition before stuffing the weapon into his jacket.
‘You’re dead.’ Akkan’s accent was thick, his voice dripped with hate. ‘My people will tear the skin from your face.’
‘Is that before or after you put my head in a vice?’
Akkan growled but didn’t respond. Pointing the loaded gun at Akkan, Ryker stepped over to the workbench and turned the handle two, three, four times. The man on the bench barely moved as the pressure on his head was released. His body quivered as he struggled to find the strength to breathe. Perhaps it was already too late for him.
‘You like torturing kids?’ Ryker turned back to Akkan, trying to keep his bubbling rage under control.
‘Kids? You know nothing.’
‘Actually, I figure I know a fair bit. But I’m hoping you can fill in the blanks.’
A burst of movement from Akkan. But it wasn’t a move on Ryker. Instead, he grabbed Tufan, hauled him up and placed the knife against his throat.
‘Really?’ Ryker said.
He acted calm, disinterested, as if he couldn’t care less if Akkan slit Tufan’s throat, though he was determined to get the young man out of here alive if he could.
Ryker knelt back down by the two writhing goons. A pistol-whip to the skull of each quietened them down a bit, and made the task of hog-tying them all the more easy.
When Ryker straightened up again, Akkan had a curious look on his face. As though he couldn’t understand what to do about Ryker’s nonchalance.
‘Put the knife down and let him go,’ Ryker ordered.
Akkan didn’t respond.
‘I get it,’ Ryker said. ‘The kids fucked up. They were supposed to bring Parker to you, quietly, but you had no idea Parker was under surveillance.’
Still not a word from Akkan, though the twitching in his face showed that Ryker was bang on.
‘I was there,’ Ryker added. ‘In the square. And I’m the reason one of their cars crashed.’ He looked down to Tufan. ‘I’m sorry your friends are dead.’
