Fightback (3 page)

It was nine-thirty by the time they took the Piccadilly Line westbound from Russell Square, heading for Victoria. Their carriage was unusually empty: Kier assumed the rush hour must be over, while tourists were still eating their breakfast.

‘Is it far?' he asked. ‘I haven't even got a toothbrush.'

‘Relax,' said Saskia. ‘We'll sort everything out once we get there.'

‘Get where?'

‘Crete.'

‘
Crete?
What are we going to Crete for?'

‘You'll like it. It's sunny.'

‘It's sunny here.'

‘Not as sunny as Crete. Besides, there's no one there who wants to kill you. At least, not as far as I know.'

‘Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.'

The train stopped at Holborn and three men
got on. They were all in their late teens or early twenties, all wearing red football shirts, tracksuit bottoms and trainers. Although the carriage was empty, the largest of the three came and sat directly opposite Saskia. Kier noticed he had the flattened nose of a boxer and Union Jack flags tattooed on both fists. The other two sat next to him, staring at Kier without a word. As the train pulled out of the station, Tattoo Man folded his arms, grinned and winked at Saskia.

‘Hello, darling,' he said. ‘You all right?'

‘I'm fine, thank you,' said Saskia. ‘And just so as you know – I'm not your darling.'

‘Aww,' said Tattoo Man, still smiling. ‘And there was me gonna ask you out on a date.'

‘No offence,' replied Saskia coolly, ‘but I think I'd rather chew my arm off.'

The man's smile vanished and the other two guys stared at him, waiting to see what he would do next.

‘You think you're pretty smart, don't you?'

Saskia didn't say anything.

Good
, thought Kier.
Maybe if she shuts up we'll get out of here in one piece
.

The man leaned forward and put his hand on Saskia's leg.

‘This is nice,' he said, stroking the material. ‘Did your daddy buy it for you?'

‘Look,' said Kier, ‘why don't you just leave her alone?'

Without warning, the man leapt from his seat and grabbed Kier by the throat.

‘You shut your mouth,' he hissed, squeezing until Kier began to choke. ‘Shut your mouth while I talk to my friend here, or I'm going to spread you all over this carriage. Understand?'

Kier nodded, gasping for breath.

‘Yeah, I understand.'

As the man shoved him roughly back in his seat, Kier knew they were in serious trouble. The guy was a hundred and sixty pounds of solid muscle and Saskia had made him look stupid in front of his mates. Now, by the look in his eyes, someone was definitely going to pay for it.

‘Stay calm, OK?' Saskia whispered. ‘Don't do anything.'

‘What did you say?' asked the man.

‘I told him not to worry,' said Saskia. ‘I told him everything was going to be all right.'

The man smiled nastily.

‘Is that what you think? You think everything's going to be all right?'

Saskia shrugged.

‘Usually works for me.'

‘Well, not this time, darling. This time, I'm
gonna teach you and your friend some manners.'

They sat in silence until the next stop, which was Covent Garden. Saskia tapped Kier on the shoulder and they made their way out on to the platform, but Kier felt his stomach lurch as the three men followed them. There were four lifts, and as they got into the first one, a woman began shepherding her two children in.

‘Sorry,' said Tattoo Man, stepping forward and standing in the doorway. ‘This one's full.'

As the door slid shut, he looked at Kier and squeezed his knuckles until they cracked.

‘Are you scared?' he asked.

‘After the day I had yesterday,' said Kier, ‘not really, no.'

He was lying, of course. Inside, his stomach was turning to mush. But he wasn't going to let them see it.

Saskia winked at him and he guessed she didn't realise he was about to get the beating of his life. But he wasn't going down without a fight. If he could just keep Tattoo Man and his friends occupied for a couple of minutes, then at least Saskia might have the chance to run away. But as the man stepped forward and raised his fists, Kier knew it was going to hurt.

A lot.

‘Wait,' said Saskia, tapping Tattoo Man on the shoulder and stopping him in his tracks. ‘Can you teach me first?'

The man scowled and turned around.

‘What?'

‘You were going to teach us some manners,' Saskia explained, ‘and I want you to teach me first.'

Before he had time to react, Saskia went into a crouch and then there was a blur of movement, so fast and smooth it was almost impossible to tell what was happening. One moment she was leaning against the lift wall, the next she was bouncing between the three men as if they were posts in a pinball machine. Kier stood back and watched in amazement as she jumped and twirled, legs flailing and arms pumping like small jackhammers. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over and Saskia stood in the middle of the lift with her arms by her sides, the three men groaning on the floor around her. Kier noticed that her breathing was calm and relaxed, as if she had just popped out for a carton of milk.

‘That's better,' she said as the doors opened. ‘Now I feel much more polite.'

Kier stared in disbelief, first at her and then at the semi-conscious men on the floor behind them.

‘I don't understand,' he said as they hurried back down the stairs towards the platform. ‘What just happened?'

‘Well, I could hardly do it on the train,' said Saskia. ‘They've got CCTV cameras everywhere. I had to make sure we went somewhere a bit more … private.'

‘No, I mean what
happened
? How did you do that?'

‘Do what?' Saskia seemed genuinely puzzled.

‘You know. In the lift. Knocking them all out.'

‘Oh,
that
,' she said dismissively, as if merely discussing the best way to swat a fly. ‘People like that are always easy. They don't have any idea what they're dealing with.'

As they waited on the platform for the next train to arrive, Kier looked at the small, dark-haired girl standing next to him and shook his head.

‘What exactly
are
they dealing with?' he asked.

Saskia turned to him and smiled.

‘That's what you're about to find out,' she said.

They took the Gatwick Express from Victoria station and once they arrived at the airport Saskia bought their plane tickets over the counter.

‘I didn't know they let you pay in cash,' said Kier.

Saskia shrugged.

‘Usually means you attract a bit more attention, but if anyone asks, just say you're staying with me.' She smiled. ‘I always check out beautifully on their computer.'

The departure hall was full of bright lights and shops selling duty-free goods. It felt like no man's land, a place where people's lives were put on hold while the rest of the world just kept on spinning

‘I think I need a coffee,' said Kier.

‘Coffee's bad for you,' said Saskia. ‘Didn't you know that?'

‘So is getting your head blown off,' replied Kier. ‘But I know which I prefer.'

Later, as the plane accelerated down the runway, Kier thought how strange it was the way life changed direction when you least expected it. He had taken it for granted that the next few years were pretty much mapped out for him: studying for exams, practising his karate, playing football beneath grey winter skies and trying to work out what he would one day become. But now everything had changed and his old life was falling away, leaving only a strange, bright emptiness inside.

As he stared out of the window at the clouds piled up like fields of freshly fallen snow, he imagined himself walking across them, never looking back, making footprints in places he had never been before.

He thanked the air stewardess and followed Saskia out on to the aircraft steps. After the cool, air-conditioned interior of the plane, the heat hit him like a blast furnace, bringing with it a strange cocktail of scents: sweat, dust, oil and the sweet aromatic fragrance of thyme, carried across parched fields on a warm summer wind.

‘Welcome to Crete,' said Saskia as they walked through passport control.

Through the huge picture windows of the arrivals hall, Kier saw the heat haze shimmering
on the tarmac and the dry, brown landscape beyond.

When they got to the car park, Saskia said ‘This is us,' and pulled open the driver's door of a red pick-up truck.

‘You drive?' asked Kier, surprised.

‘Well, let's see, shall we?'

She revved the engine, put her arm over the back seat and released the clutch so that the truck spun backwards in a neat arc. Then she tapped the brakes, pushed it into first gear and accelerated out of the car park in a cloud of dust.

She turned to Kier and smiled.

‘Yep,' she said, ‘I guess I do.'

They rolled down the windows and Saskia took the coast road, gunning the engine as Kier gazed out past olive groves to the turquoise sea beyond.

‘You still haven't told me where we're going,' he said.

‘Stop worrying,' said Saskia, her hair whipping around her face in the breeze. ‘You'll find out soon enough.'

They turned off on to a long straight road with vineyards on either side of them. After a few kilo-metres they came to a pair of thick wooden gates with purple-flowered bougainvillea cascading over the surrounding walls. Saskia pressed a button on
the key fob and the gates swung open with an electronic hum, revealing a sweep of driveway bordered by green lawns. Small rainbows hovered between the sprinklers as droplets of water danced above damp grass. Kier could see steps at the end of the drive leading to a stone terrace and a large whitewashed villa.

‘Wow,' he said as Saskia parked the truck next to a shiny black BMW. ‘Someone's not short of a few quid.'

Saskia nodded. ‘He worked hard for it. And he looks after his people too.'

Kier wondered who he was and who his people were, but guessed he would find out soon enough.

As they walked up the steps, two men appeared at the front door. They were similar in appearance: both heavily built with close-cropped hair and tanned faces. In spite of the heat, they wore the uniform loved by security guards the world over: sunglasses, white shirts and dark suits with a slight bulge under the left pocket, indicating the handgun concealed beneath.

‘I feel like I'm in a film,' Kier whispered.

‘You are,' said Saskia, pointing at the security camera on the wall. ‘It's all right,' she told the two men. ‘He's with me.'

The men nodded and stepped aside.

One of them asked, ‘Are you Kier?'

‘I am,' said Kier, taken aback.

‘I'm sorry about your father. He was a good man. One of the best.'

‘Thanks,' said Kier, wondering how it was that everyone seemed to know more about his father than he did.

As they entered the villa, he saw that the air-conditioned hallway was lined with potted palms, carefully positioned beneath spotlights which threw leafy shadows across the marble floor.

‘You OK?' asked Saskia as they stopped outside a pair of thick oak doors.

Kier nodded. His father was dead and he was far from home in the company of strangers.

‘I'm fine.'

‘OK, well … good luck.'

Saskia twisted the handle and opened the door.

‘I've brought him,' she said, gently pushing Kier forward. ‘It's Kier – David's son.'

As Kier entered, the door closed behind him and he heard Saskia's footsteps echoing down the corridor.

The room was more modern than he had expected – open and light, with pine floors and shelves full of books. In the centre of the room, in
front of a large picture window, was a solid oak desk with a computer and several neat piles of paper. But Kier's eye was immediately drawn to the man seated behind it. Kier guessed he must be in his early fifties: his hair was greying at the temples and a few lines were visible beneath the mahogany tan. But he had kept himself in good shape. Beneath the crisp white shirt was the short, stocky physique of a rugby player and the blue eyes that met Kier's were as hard and clear as diamonds. Kier imagined him in his younger days, hunched forward in a scrum, driving towards the line.

‘Kier,' he said, standing up and smiling as if they had known each other all their lives. ‘Welcome to the Retreat.' He offered his hand across the desk. ‘Richard Jackson. I was a good friend of your father.'

Another one
, thought Kier, shaking the man's hand.

‘Please. Take a seat.'

Kier sat and watched as another dark suit walked past the window. Jackson, it seemed, was a man who liked protection.

‘I imagine things must have been rather difficult for you recently.'

‘You could say that.'

‘Your father's death was a great loss to us all.'

Kier took a deep breath.

‘Why do I get the feeling,' he asked, ‘that everyone knows more about this than I do?'

Jackson shook his head. ‘Not everyone. Only those involved.'

‘Involved with
what
?'

Jackson rested his arms on the desk and fixed Kier with a cool stare.

‘You must understand, Kier, that people's lives are at stake here.'

Kier stared right back.

‘I think I understand that better than most.'

‘I think you probably do.' Jackson opened a cream-coloured folder, glanced inside and closed it again. ‘Tell me, how much do you know about your father?'

Kier shrugged.

‘Not much. I know he was in the army before he joined the police. Then, after my mother died, he went to work for a property development firm. He was travelling around a lot, so I was sent to boarding school.'

Jackson nodded; this was obviously not news to him.

‘The property business is mine and your father worked for me.' He waved his arm to indicate the room and the grounds beyond it. ‘You're looking at
a very rich man, Kier. I have properties all over the world.'

Kier wasn't sure why Jackson was telling him this, but he decided to try and steer the conversation back on track.

‘So you knew my father?'

‘We were in the Parachute Regiment together. When we left the army he joined the police force and I built up a business.' Jackson smiled. ‘You know, I once offered your father ten times what they were paying him to come and work for me. But he wasn't interested in money. He was one of the good guys, you see. He wanted to make a difference.'

Kier nodded, remembering what his father had said to him after the tournament.

Find out what matters, that's the real secret
.

‘We kept in touch, you know. Birthdays, Christmas, that kind of thing. But then the world began to change. Suddenly it seemed that there were drug dealers on every street corner. People who wouldn't think twice about killing their own mothers if they could make something out of it.'

Jackson got up and walked to the window. Outside, a swimming pool sparkled in the sunlight.

‘They killed my son, Kier. He was the same age as you when they got to him.'

‘I'm sorry,' said Kier, not knowing what else to say.

Jackson shrugged.

‘It's a tough world. But after that I couldn't stand it any more. I took my millions and came to live out here where the sun shines twelve hours a day and crime is virtually non-existent. I thought maybe I could find a way to be happy again.'

‘And did you?'

‘Oh, it was OK for a while. But the trouble was, I no longer had a reason to get up in the mornings. Then one night I got a phone call from your dad. He told me that while he was off duty, some guy had attacked him in the street and tried to take his wallet. Your dad fought back and next thing he knew, he was being arrested for assault.'

‘Arrested?' Kier couldn't believe it. ‘But I thought you said he was the one who got attacked?'

‘Absolutely, but your dad was a fighter, remember. So the other guy was left with cuts and bruises, while your dad didn't have a scratch on him. I hired the best lawyer I could and he got off with a caution. But that was the end of his police career.'

‘He lost his job?'

‘Not exactly. But they made it pretty difficult for him after that, so he resigned. Just because he'd tried to do the right thing, he was left without a job
and a young kid to bring up. And that's when I decided enough was enough.'

Kier looked at the sunlight shining on the bright lawn and realised that until this moment he had known almost nothing of his father. Now, as the truth began to unfold in front of him, he wanted to know everything.

‘What happened?'

‘Your father always wanted the best for you, Kier. But like me he was an idealist: he wanted to make the world a better place for you to grow up in. Which is why he agreed to work with me on my … other project. He couldn't look after you on his own, so I offered to pay for you to attend boarding school.'

Kier had often wondered how his father could afford the school fees. Now things were starting to make sense.

‘What exactly was your other project?'

‘I used contacts from my army days and others I have made since to create – oh, what shall we call it? – a kind of police force of my own.'

‘A police force?'

‘Yes. But a police force that hasn't had its teeth removed by a thousand rules and regulations. A police force that, to all intents and purposes, does not exist.'

‘Why?'

‘Times have changed, Kier. The old ways don't work any more and it's time for something harder, stronger. Something that still knows how to bite.'

‘So how big is this … organisation?'

‘Not huge. There are a handful of people on active service at any time.'

‘And Saskia is one of them?'

‘Correct.'

‘How come?'

‘Unfortunately her parents died when she was very young. I'd always said that if anything happened to them, I'd make sure she was well looked after. I arranged for her to receive a private education out here in Crete. But – as I expect you have already discovered – Saskia is a very single-minded young woman. When she became aware of some of the – how shall I put it? –
activities
that were taking place around the island, she was determined to be a part of them. I indulged her for a while, thinking she would soon lose interest. But it quickly became apparent that she had the potential to become a highly skilled operative. As has since been proved.'

‘But isn't that dangerous?'

‘Life is dangerous, Kier. One thing I've learned is, if you want to change things, you have to take risks.
And besides, no one made her do it. To tell the truth, it would have been impossible to stop her.'

‘But even so – isn't she a bit young?'

‘I don't think so. Interestingly enough, she was actually fourteen when she started. Which I happen to think is a very good age to begin.'

Kier frowned.

‘Meaning?'

‘Meaning that you might want to help us find the people who killed your father.'

Kier stared at him.

‘Are you serious?'

‘Oh, I'm deadly serious.'

‘But what can I do?'

‘A lot more than you think,' said Jackson. ‘But we should talk about that later.' He rested his chin on the tips of his fingers and studied Kier for a few moments. ‘You've had a difficult couple of days and all this must have come as quite a shock to you. I think what you need now is some time for reflection.'

Jackson pushed back his chair and got to his feet, signifying that the meeting was at an end.

‘There's an old friend of mine who has a beautiful place not far from here. It's a simple, quiet place where you can gather your thoughts and begin to prepare yourself.'

As Kier closed the door and walked through the cool shadows of the hallway, he thought about what Jackson had said.

Prepare myself? Prepare myself for what?

‘So what did he say?' asked Saskia.

Kier hung his arm out of the window as the truck gathered speed, feeling the breeze ripple through his fingers.