A Deadly Trade: A gripping espionage thriller. E. Seymour V.

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СКАЧАТЬ was the only person in the world who knew me before and after. He was aware of what I’d become and what I was. He would not judge me. He would not ask awkward questions. He would not ask me to explain. We were never going to have one of those mundane conversations about what I’d done the previous day, week or year. We would not waste time discussing my choice of holiday destination. Relationships were off limits because I had none.

      ‘Joshua Thane, the young man I once described as shimmering with menace,’ he let out a loud laugh. ‘My God, I thought you were dead. What brings you here? We must eat. We must celebrate. You are hungry, yes? I have pastries and eggs. What would you like? Name it and you shall have it.’

      If anyone could give me what I wanted Reuben could, but first he needed to be finessed. As far as brunch was concerned, I settled for eggs, poached, and more coffee. While he hustled around the kitchen he rattled on about the old days. He made no mention of my unorthodox entry. Reuben only ever voiced criticism.

      ‘Remember you asking what it felt like to kill someone?’ he said at last with a chuckle. ‘I told you that it doesn’t feel like anything. It’s…’

      ‘Business not personal,’ I chipped in.

      Reuben cast me a slow sideways look. He knew where I was going with this. My first kill broke the cardinal rule. It was personal and it was supposed to be my last. The fact that I was here sitting in his kitchen meant events had come full circle. I don’t believe in karma. If I did I’d be dead a thousand times over, but I definitely felt the pull of something outside my very ordinary human powers. Disturbing.

      ‘Eat,’ Reuben said, putting a plate down in front of me. ‘Then we will talk.’

      We ate in silence. In spite of the unusual and tricky circumstances in which I found myself, I was calm. I trusted nobody, but I trusted Reuben. If I pitched it right, Reuben with his extensive contacts would provide me with the answers I so urgently needed.

      At last, when the plates were cleared, I told Reuben what had taken place that morning. I delivered the account without emotion, as he had taught me. I kept my pitch neutral, the information factual, giving as clear a description of events as possible. At this stage, I didn’t identify the target. He listened with the acuity I expected from him. He did not express surprise or comment upon my low diversification into theft. He frowned only once, but when I mentioned the surviving witness, he grew angry.

      ‘You did not know about the boy?’ Condemnatory, Reuben’s dark eyes turned as black as the sharps and flats on a keyboard.

      My jaw ground but I said nothing. I’d broken a fundamental rule. ‘I…’

      ‘Didn’t do your homework,’ he barked. ‘What have I always taught you: surveillance, knowledge, survival. You check the intelligence then you check it again.’

      He was right, of course. It was not Wes’s fault. The blame lay with me.

      ‘Have you forgotten the art?’ Reuben snarled.

      What could I say? Even if I’d elicited screeds of personal details, something told me that I would have missed the one that counted. ‘It was a one-off, an unusual job.’ More unusual than I could ever imagine, and one I never wished to repeat. Ever.

      ‘How could you be so remiss?’ he growled. ‘What was it, greed?’

      I met his eye. He had a point but I’m not sure it fully explained my incompetence. I’ve heard it said that there is a particular time in a serial killer’s life when he wants to be found and stopped. To facilitate his discovery, he makes a mistake. I was not a serial killer in the sense that the term was generally applied so I didn’t believe I fell into this category.

      ‘I slipped up, took my eye off the ball,’ I said lamely.

      ‘You got complacent,’ Reuben said, contempt in his eyes. After all I’ve taught you, his expression implied.

      ‘I admit I was reckless,’ I said, stubbornly defending my reputation.

      ‘And you let the boy go?’ Reuben saw me for the fool I was. This rattled me.

      ‘I did.’

      ‘Why?’ In Reuben’s book, you took no prisoners.

      Stumped for an answer, I said. ‘If ordered to kill him I would have done. Nobody gave the order.’

      ‘Then you have taken an unacceptable risk.’

      ‘Yes.’ No point in denial.

      ‘The police will be all over it and now they will have a description of you.’

      ‘A description but not an identity.’ They couldn’t exactly issue a warrant for the arrest of a man without a name. Even so, the boy had dragged me kicking and screaming out of the shadows. Did Reuben of all people recognise this? If so, he didn’t enlighten me.

      Reuben took out cigarettes and a lighter. I sensed he was playing for time. He offered me the pack. I rarely smoked but this seemed like the right occasion. I took one, lit it. Reuben did the same.

      ‘You need money?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I will see to it.

      ‘Somewhere to hide?’

      I hesitated. It would be the smart move yet I could see now that it would be too easy for Reuben to slip back into his old role as mentor and me as pupil. I no longer responded well to criticism. ‘No, just give me the cash, I’ll be fine.’

      ‘As you please.’ Dark-eyed, he took a drag of his cigarette, drawing the tobacco deep into his lungs.

      ‘The reason I’m here,’ I confessed, ‘is that I went back.’

      ‘Back?’ he spat, ‘Are you out of your mind?’

      ‘To finish the job,’ I lied.

      Reuben met my gaze with watchful eyes. He nodded briefly.

      ‘After I arrived,’ I continued, ‘the place teemed with British, Russian and Israeli security services.’

      Most people would have reacted. Reuben was not most people. He barely flinched. ‘The woman,’ he began. ‘You said she worked at Imperial College.’

      ‘That’s right.’ I inhaled deeply. ‘Dr Mary Wilding.’ I floated her name as if it were a smoke ring. A pulse fluttered in Reuben’s thick neck. I checked any natural response of my own.

      ‘The microbiologist,’ he said slowly, as though his brain had suddenly filled with sludge.

      I blinked. ‘She was a research scientist.’

      His eyes narrowed. ‘You didn’t bother to look into this aspect of her background?’

      Unforgivably, I had not. I glared at him. He said nothing, his expression one of sheer disbelief. He took another drag of his cigarette, flicked a flake of tobacco from his tongue. ‘So who did she upset? What was her crime exactly?’ A shrewd glint entered his eyes.

      I told him what I’d been СКАЧАТЬ