No Tomorrow (27 page)

R
ain lashed the windows and ran down the glass in chaotic rivulets. Gisele stared at the flowing serpent of headlights beyond, twin red eyes glowing in the darkness. They stared back, malevolent but harmless, threatening violence but delivering none. For now. She inched closer to the man next to her, hoping that while she remained there, no one would hurt her. If she'd felt he would respond she would have leaned against him, encouraging a comforting arm to be wrapped around her. But she stayed rigid in her seat. However much she wanted that embrace, she would not ask for it and show more weakness than she had already.

She hated him for his callousness and criminality. She hated herself more because she needed him. He had proved his loyalty and she could cry because of it, even if it was only because he had liked her mother. Whatever their relationship had been or had not been, it gave him an immovable conviction the likes of which she would not have believed possible. How could someone risk his life for someone he did not know on behalf of someone
he had once known? It was a mystery to her, but she was okay with that. Whoever this man was, he did not think or operate like other people. It would be easier to fathom the motivation of an alien.

She knew almost nothing about him, and though that had irritated her earlier, now it reassured her because all she understood was that he was someone of strength and resolve who could deliver extreme violence to protect her from it. He was a specter more than a person—made of violent energy more than flesh. Flesh could be destroyed. Energy could not.

But she wasn't like that. She was weak. She was scared.

Gisele stared out at the snaking red eyes blurring through her tears.

•   •   •

If Gisele moved her right hand he took the next right turn. If she moved her left, he headed in that direction. When her hands stayed still in her lap he maintained the same heading. After fifteen minutes they were far away from the hotel, having taken a random route to an unpredictable location.

Victor said, “You can sit up now.”

She took a long time to do so, the adrenaline hangover robbing her of strength. “Are we safe?”

“No,” Victor answered, even though he wanted to say yes. “We're anything but safe.”

She nodded, bottom lip over the top. He saw that she had wanted a different response. Any different response. Offering comfort and reassurance was not his strong point. It occurred to him that he should have entered this as a character; someone more personable and relatable. But he was sharper as himself. Acting a role took effort. Keeping Gisele alive required all of his concentration, but
he saw now that it would be easier to have her do exactly as she was told if she liked him. If she thought of him as a friend then she would trust what he said without question. That lack of hesitation might be the difference between life and death. But it was too late now to initiate a charm offensive. She'd seen him kill people. She wouldn't be able to look past that. No one could. That was why he'd made sure her mother had never known what he did for Norimov. Now he felt that in deluding Eleanor he had betrayed her.

He noticed that the fuel tank was getting low. He wasn't planning on keeping the car much longer but he couldn't be sure a pair of Range Rovers were not going to appear behind him at any moment. If they did, the Peugeot would need fuel. He pulled into the first twenty-four-hour gas station he saw.

“I'll be as fast as I can.”

She was quiet as he climbed out of the vehicle. He didn't know what she was thinking. He could see the fear and uncertainty in her expression but otherwise it was blank.

He half filled the tank and paid in cash, keeping his head angled away from the forecourt's security cameras and face tilted away from the one behind the cashier. He was more obvious than he would usually be because the cameras were well positioned and top-of-the-line and he was being actively hunted. He saw the young guy behind the desk notice his behavior but the kid was confused. He hadn't worked out what Victor was doing. Better to be noted by someone who would forget him within ten minutes than have his face recorded in crystal-clear high-resolution video.

He bought some bags of potato chips and chocolate
bars and an armful of bottled water. He noticed the guy behind the counter smiling to himself, thinking Victor was stoned on account of the junk food and avoiding eye contact in an attempt to hide his vacant gaze. Victor did nothing to convince him otherwise.

Before leaving the gas station he scanned the forecourt through the glass. No Range Rovers in sight. No gunmen.

He handed her the plastic bag of supplies as he slid into the driver's seat.

She peered into the bag. “I don't like junk food.”

“Eat. It's all full of carbohydrates.”

“Carbs are the devil.”

“We need them. You especially. Eat up.”

She sighed and he heard her rummage in the bag.

“Don't say anything,” he said as her mouth opened. “Just eat.”

She found a chocolate bar she liked the look of and bit off a small chunk. She chewed slowly. “What are we going to do?”

“Find somewhere to lie low.”

“Then what?”

He didn't answer.

“Why don't we simply keep driving?” she asked. “Let's get out of the city. Never come back.”

“Where would we go? We don't have a car. Public transport is risky. People are looking for us.”

She held up her hands. “We're
in
a car.”

“It's stolen. We'll have to ditch it soon.”

“Why can't you steal another one? Or we can take a train or go to the airport. Anything.”

“Not yet,” Victor said. “They'll expect us to run. They could be watching train stations and airports and
following reports of stolen cars. If we're spotted, it's over. First we lie low and consider our next move. We can't risk snap decisions. In the morning, maybe we will leave the country. But it's a choice we'll make when I've had time to think. Do you have your passport on you?”

She shook her head. “It's at the office. In my desk. I went to a conference in Brussels. I . . . I knew I shouldn't have left it there.”

“That's a problem, then. They'll know about your workplace.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

“I'll come up with something. But for now I need you to think.”

She stopped chewing and looked at him, reading his tone. “Me? About?”

“At the hotel, the man who knocked on the door wasn't trying to kidnap you. Neither were the men in the parking lot.”

“I . . . I don't understand.”

“I'd been led to believe they wanted to abduct you, but that's not what I witnessed. They were trying to kill you. That was an assassination attempt.”

Her mouth hung open and her brow was furrowed. Shock. Disbelief. “Why would they want to kill me? You said they wanted to take me to put pressure on Alek. That's why you're protecting me. That's what you told me.”

“I was wrong. This isn't about your stepfather. This is about you.”

“That doesn't make any sense.
How
can it be about me?”

“I don't know, but with a little time you might figure out why this is happening to you.”

“So you're saying it's my fault?”

“That's not what I said.”

She pushed her fingers through her hair. “Then please explain what the fuck you're saying.”

“That there is a woman who wants to kill you,” Victor said. “The people who attacked us in the warehouse and at the hotel are working for a woman with blond hair and green eyes. She's British. Do you know anyone like that?”

“I don't know. How would I, based on that description? I could have met dozens of women like that, couldn't I?”

“Has anyone threatened you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Any criminals you might have crossed as part of your work? A case you've been working on?”

Her head was still shaking. “I haven't worked a single case yet. Don't you get it? I'm not a qualified barrister. It's not that long ago that I got my degree. I don't handle even the most minor of cases, let alone one that might warrant all this. God, there's nothing I know or have done that could give all these people a reason to try to kill me. If I had, then my whole firm would be under threat too. They wouldn't single me out. I'm not important.”

“You are to her. To her you're so dangerous she will risk everything to kill you.”

The shaking stopped. The eyes were wide. “But I'm nobody.”

•   •   •

Victor left her in the car while she ate and walked to the edge of the garage forecourt. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew the small two-way radio transceiver he'd taken from the dead mercenary. It was a Motorola, an expensive model, with a range of up to ten kilometers. It would be less in a dense urban
environment. He couldn't be sure it would be in range. Only one way to find out.

He powered it on and thumbed the
SEND
button.

“Do you know who this is?”

He waited. For a moment, all he could hear was the sound of tires splashing through puddles. Then a woman's voice came through the speaker.

“I do know who this is,” she said. “You're Norimov's man. The assassin.”

Her voice was distorted and crackling because the signal was weak.

She added: “It's nice to speak to you at last.”

“
Nice
is perhaps not the word I'd elect to use,” Victor said.

“Even putting luck to one side, I have to admit you're proving quite the troublemaker.”

“It wasn't luck that killed four of your guys tonight.”

A pause before she replied, “Is that why you're speaking to me now, to gloat? That would be a mistake.”

“I don't make mistakes.”

“Is that so?” the woman said back. “Except for the fact you're now involved in something that doesn't—
shouldn't
—concern you. That is a monumental mistake on your part.”

The voice was becoming more distorted. They were traveling farther away from him and Gisele.

He said, “Would you like to have a wager on that?”

She chuckled. “Sure, why not? I'll humor you. What exactly are we betting with?”

“Your life,” Victor said, and smashed the radio beneath his heel.

V
ictor pulled over on a high street in the north of the city where bright signs advertised a multitude of fast-food outlets. There were other shops in between, but all closed at this hour. The street was empty of people.

“Wait here.”

Gisele nodded.

He'd left the engine running because hot-wiring was temperamental and he didn't want to risk it not working again, especially if they had to move out in a hurry. He scanned for threats as he walked until he found a rental agent. He examined the properties listed in the window display. He checked the photographs and read through the details. He memorized the two that best matched his criteria: houses, unfurnished, quiet neighborhood, available immediately.

Gisele was sitting very still when he climbed back into the car. He didn't ask if she was okay because no civilian would be in the circumstances.

The display hadn't listed the precise addresses of the properties, but they didn't take long to find with the
details provided. Both had signs out front, but the first house—despite its immediate availability—was occupied. The second was empty.

It was an end-of-row terrace, slim-fronted but long. The front garden was overgrown with weeds. The window frames were cracked and warped. The front door was sun bleached. Victor parked the Peugeot half a mile away and led Gisele on foot. Having the car closer would be useful if they had to make a fast getaway, but it was stolen and therefore had more chance of leading enemies to them than saving them if they were otherwise found.

Victor walked ahead to scout for threats. Gisele followed a little behind, as he'd told her to. She needed to stay close to him so he could protect her, but with enough distance to give him time to clear an area before she entered it. He led her down the alleyway that ran behind the row of terraces and separated its back garden from those of the houses behind. Fences rose tall on either side of their shoulders. When he came to the right spot he stood with his back to the fence and linked his fingers in front of him.

“Here,” he said. “Climb over.”

She stared up at the high fence. “You've got to be kidding.”

“Put your foot on my hands and use it as a step. I'll lift you.”

“And I'll break my neck falling down the other side.”

“No, you won't. The garden will be higher than we are now. The drop will be a short one.”

“Says you.”

“Come on,” he said. “We have to be fast.”

She made a big deal of sighing, placed her hands on his shoulders, then raised her right foot and set it down on his upturned palms.

“After three?” she asked, sarcastic.

“Three,” he said, and lifted.

She grunted and pushed herself up, grabbing the top of the fence and then hooking an elbow. He hoisted her higher and she struggled up and over. He heard her drop down onto the other side.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

There was no answer.

“Gisele, are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

There was anger directed at him in her tone. It was not an unexpected response to the trauma she had been through in the past few hours. From an operational perspective he would have preferred her to remain quiet and passive, but for her sake it was better to be angry than scared.

He turned, leaped vertically, took hold of the cold wood, and heaved himself up. He dropped down next to her.

“What now?” she asked.

There was no alarm. The house was unfurnished. The landlord had no need of one because it didn't affect him if the tenants were burgled. Victor picked the lock of the back door and ushered Gisele inside. He checked every room, every door, every window. He made sure all the exterior doors and windows were closed and locked and the interior doors were all open so sound would travel through the house easier.

She said, “You've made a draft.”

He didn't respond.

“There's no furniture.”

“We don't need any.”

“Whose place is this?”

“No one's. It doesn't matter. We'll stay for a few hours until it's light and move on. Get some sleep.”

He turned around and went to perform checks of the house. He again checked every room and window. Nothing had changed in the past ten minutes and nothing was likely to, but he needed the alone time. The house had been neglected in the way rented properties often were. The tenants were not going to put any time or expense into maintenance when they didn't own it. The landlord didn't live there, so he cared only about the bottom line.

Victor saw its potential. Given two weeks he could reverse the neglect. Given a month he could transform it. But he could never live in the house. It didn't meet his specifications on defense. There were too many neighbors. He would end up getting to know them and they would know more of him in return than he wanted anyone to know. Alternatively, he would have to make a determined effort to keep out of their way and they would talk about him and begin to wonder why he was so antisocial. He ripped off a peeling segment of wallpaper to stop the tear from getting any larger.

•   •   •

He was standing in an empty bedroom, staring out through the sliver of space between curtain and wall. Foxes were scavenging in the night. He couldn't see them. But he heard their keening on occasion. Red flashed in his mind.

He heard a scrape.

Any hint of fatigue evaporated, replaced by focus. He stood silent and listened. It had originated outside the house. Faint and quiet among the other sounds, but close. A shoe on asphalt, maybe. It was hard to be sure. He peered into the night. He saw nothing. He heard a car passing on the street outside the house's front. He heard an airliner flying overhead. He heard the wind shaking fences and branches and rushing over every
surface. Ten minutes passed without another notable sound reaching his ears. He remained poised, listening and watching. If it had been the sound of a killer moving into position, Victor would be ready. If it was nothing, it didn't matter whether he was ready or not.

But it mattered to him. He had to be ready every time, just in case. He had to hear every sound. Not only his own life depended on it, but Gisele's too. He didn't want her to die. He didn't want to let her mother down.

After twelve minutes he decided the noise had been nothing. He would have liked the neighboring house to have a dog that barked whenever anyone came near its territory. But no barking had ensued when Victor and Gisele had climbed over the back fence. Any canines nearby stayed indoors with their owners and any territorialism would wait until the morning. In another life he pictured himself with a dog. He liked dogs. They seemed to like him too. They always wanted to play-fight with him. But owning a dog meant having a home, and he couldn't foresee himself ever having one again. He had to keep moving, whether he was working or not. Trouble would inevitably find him if he stayed in one place too long. A moving target was always harder to hit than a stationary one, as he had told Gisele.

He'd been standing there for two hours when he heard Gisele climbing the stairs. Each step creaked. It would drive most occupiers crazy, but Victor liked it. A silent staircase was a killer's best friend. He willed Gisele to turn around and go back down. He wanted her to rest. He wanted to be left alone. He kept his thoughts to himself.

“I fell asleep,” she said from behind him. He knew she
was standing in the doorway because her steps did not disturb the room's floorboards.

“That's good,” Victor said. “But you should go back to sleep.”

“What are you doing?”

“If they come, they'll come through the backyard. Like we did.”

“They won't find us here, will they?”

“Act as though you're always vulnerable and you'll have more chance of surviving when you are.”

“If you say so.” She hugged her arms. “It's cold.”

She was right. It was cold. The outside temperature was below ten degrees Celsius with the wind chill. Inside it wasn't much warmer. The winter air found its way under doors and through cracks. He hadn't noticed until now because the cold wasn't going to kill him in the time he would be here. Comfort meant little to him when survival was at stake. But he understood she was nothing like him. She was a civilian. And young. What hardship meant to him and her could not be more different.

“I know,” he said. “There's electricity but the gas must have been disconnected. You can have my jacket if you like.”

“No,” she said, sharpness in her voice despite the tiredness. “I mean, no, thank you. It's okay. I'll survive. There's no food in the fridge or the cupboards. I woke up starving.”

He knew he should have picked up some proper food for her before they arrived. He hadn't thought to at the time because food wasn't a priority. A few high-calorie snacks had been more than enough for him. The body could function at near maximum capacity for days without food, eating itself to stay fueled. But it couldn't survive long pierced by bullets.

“We'll get you something when we move out.”

“I'm not sure I can wait that long without eating.”

“You can. You just haven't had to before.”

“Right.” She sighed. “I know I could stand to lose a kilo or two. Might as well start now. It's not as if I have anything better to do.”

“You don't need to lose any weight.”

She shot him a look, as if he were about to follow the comment with some sarcasm. When he didn't, she smiled. “Thanks.”

“There's nothing to thank me for. It's a statement of fact.”

“Then thank you for stating the fact.” A pause, then: “Is there anything I can do to help? I found a stack of party cups left in the kitchen cabinet. I could get you some water if you're thirsty.”

He was. But he wanted her to rest more. “I'm okay. Get some more sleep if you can. We need to move on soon.”