He knew nothing, so he had pushed it out his mind. Winter had become spring, spring summer, and he hadn’t given it any consideration.
And now Kangchenjunga had been dumped, horribly, almost inevitably into the mix, and the regret he’d felt about not grasping the case was multiplied by fear and dread.
‘We know they had the power to order a vintner in France to commit suicide,’ she said. ‘We know they had the power to arrange for a dangerous criminal to be released from prison. They had the power to manipulate and control your actions. They made intricately beautiful, bespoke tarot cards, and delivered them without trace. You had a guard on your hospital room?’
Jericho didn’t answer.
‘You had a guard on your hospital room, yet they managed to place this card by your bed. We know they are concerned with a group of men who climbed to the summit of Kangchenjunga, and that they have the wherewithal to carry out assassinations in Switzerland and England on consecutive days. Therefore they have more than one assassin, or they have someone who can move unseen across borders. Taking it–’
‘All right,’ said Jericho. It wasn’t so much that he wanted her to stop making her point. He just wanted a return to silence. He wanted to think about the case, not have this voice in his ear, constantly demanding answers.
She paused for a moment, not entirely sure what he’d meant, then continued talking.
‘We can conclude that they are an organisation of broad international concern and reach. Well funded, of course, probably well connected–’
‘Yes, but who the fuck are they?’ snapped Jericho.
She stopped talking. Jericho gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles going white, then he forced himself to relax. Or at least he forced his fingers to relax. He couldn’t force his head.
He didn’t look at her, but he could tell she was staring straight ahead, her face expressionless, as she had been doing throughout the journey.
The conversation was over. He hadn’t received an answer to the question he’d asked, but for the moment he did not care. Hopefully, he thought, they would get back to Wells, DI Badstuber would announce that she was now travelling to Marrakech, and Dylan would look at Jericho, sadly shake her head, and say that there was no money in the budget for him to accompany her.
18
––––––––
H arrow had hired a bodyguard. Geyerson, of course, was paying for him, but it was Harrow who was being guarded. Twenty-four hours a day. The bodyguard, as far as Harrow knew, slept while he himself slept, but that was largely conjecture on his part. He was always awake when Harrow was awake, that was all he knew.
He had hired a Dagestani named Baschkin, who spoke no English. He knew little about him, and although Baschkin was learning a lot about him, Harrow wasn’t particularly worried. He had other things to be worried about.
Baschkin had an air about him of quiet, unthinking brutality. A man who would kill anyone or anything at any moment, and feel nothing. Yes, he was only there for the money, and if someone came along with more money he could likely be bought. But there weren’t many people with more money than Geyerson, and Harrow wasn’t of a mind to worry about whether any of them would want him dead.
For the moment, in any case, no one else even knew why it was that Geyerson was having him guarded in the first place. That, at least, was what Harrow presumed.
Still, an unthinking, brutal thug was the kind of protection Geyerson had decided Harrow needed; Harrow had been delighted to go along. He knew he’d needed someone watching his back for the few months following Kangchenjunga, and a man who never looked with any judgement on Harrow or the women he slept with, the alcohol he drank, or the drugs he ingested, was perfect.
It was three thirty-four on a Thursday afternoon, and Harrow was on a large motorised yacht in a small bay at the eastern end of Cyprus. He’d risen at
And now Kangchenjunga had been dumped, horribly, almost inevitably into the mix, and the regret he’d felt about not grasping the case was multiplied by fear and dread.
‘We know they had the power to order a vintner in France to commit suicide,’ she said. ‘We know they had the power to arrange for a dangerous criminal to be released from prison. They had the power to manipulate and control your actions. They made intricately beautiful, bespoke tarot cards, and delivered them without trace. You had a guard on your hospital room?’
Jericho didn’t answer.
‘You had a guard on your hospital room, yet they managed to place this card by your bed. We know they are concerned with a group of men who climbed to the summit of Kangchenjunga, and that they have the wherewithal to carry out assassinations in Switzerland and England on consecutive days. Therefore they have more than one assassin, or they have someone who can move unseen across borders. Taking it–’
‘All right,’ said Jericho. It wasn’t so much that he wanted her to stop making her point. He just wanted a return to silence. He wanted to think about the case, not have this voice in his ear, constantly demanding answers.
She paused for a moment, not entirely sure what he’d meant, then continued talking.
‘We can conclude that they are an organisation of broad international concern and reach. Well funded, of course, probably well connected–’
‘Yes, but who the fuck are they?’ snapped Jericho.
She stopped talking. Jericho gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles going white, then he forced himself to relax. Or at least he forced his fingers to relax. He couldn’t force his head.
He didn’t look at her, but he could tell she was staring straight ahead, her face expressionless, as she had been doing throughout the journey.
The conversation was over. He hadn’t received an answer to the question he’d asked, but for the moment he did not care. Hopefully, he thought, they would get back to Wells, DI Badstuber would announce that she was now travelling to Marrakech, and Dylan would look at Jericho, sadly shake her head, and say that there was no money in the budget for him to accompany her.
18
––––––––
H arrow had hired a bodyguard. Geyerson, of course, was paying for him, but it was Harrow who was being guarded. Twenty-four hours a day. The bodyguard, as far as Harrow knew, slept while he himself slept, but that was largely conjecture on his part. He was always awake when Harrow was awake, that was all he knew.
He had hired a Dagestani named Baschkin, who spoke no English. He knew little about him, and although Baschkin was learning a lot about him, Harrow wasn’t particularly worried. He had other things to be worried about.
Baschkin had an air about him of quiet, unthinking brutality. A man who would kill anyone or anything at any moment, and feel nothing. Yes, he was only there for the money, and if someone came along with more money he could likely be bought. But there weren’t many people with more money than Geyerson, and Harrow wasn’t of a mind to worry about whether any of them would want him dead.
For the moment, in any case, no one else even knew why it was that Geyerson was having him guarded in the first place. That, at least, was what Harrow presumed.
Still, an unthinking, brutal thug was the kind of protection Geyerson had decided Harrow needed; Harrow had been delighted to go along. He knew he’d needed someone watching his back for the few months following Kangchenjunga, and a man who never looked with any judgement on Harrow or the women he slept with, the alcohol he drank, or the drugs he ingested, was perfect.
It was three thirty-four on a Thursday afternoon, and Harrow was on a large motorised yacht in a small bay at the eastern end of Cyprus. He’d risen at
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