‘In other words when the two of you confront each other again you know you can beat him. He only thinks he can beat you.’
‘At last,’ he said.
‘But what happens if I’m the one who ends up confronting him?’
He stared at her. ‘Only you can answer that question.’
She pondered his words then got to her feet. ‘Let’s see your arm.’
‘My arm?’
‘Where the electrode came into contact with your skin.’
‘It’s nothing,’ he muttered, but still pulled up the sleeve of his sweatshirt to reveal the inflamed area on his inner wrist.
She told him about the latest developments from Zurich while dressing the wound, filling him in on the backgrounds of Hendrique and Milchan as well as relaying Philpott’s instructions.
‘And Jacques sends his regards,’ she concluded as she secured the bandage with a strip of sticking plaster.
He sat back and massaged his temples, his eyes closed. ‘You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?’
‘I always have been, ever since we first started working together.’
‘Was there–’ he trailed off and opened his eyes. ‘Forget it.’
It was a side of Graham she had never seen before. He seemed more open than usual. She assumed it was only a temporary lapse in character while he nursed his head but she still determined to keep the conversation going for as long as possible.
‘Was there ever anything between Jacques and me, is that what you were going to ask?’
‘It’s none of my business.’
‘Why not? You’re my partner, for God’s sake,’ she shot back.
He winced. ‘Don’t shout.’
‘Sorry,’ she said with an apologetic smile. ‘And no, there was never anything between us. He was the brother I never had, a confidant I could turn to for advice if I ever needed it.’
‘Has there ever been a special guy in your life?’
‘Well, there was Rutger Hauer–’ she said, then giggled. ‘Never anyone special, no. I had a few casual relationships after I left the Sorbonne. These days work takes up most of my time.’
‘Do you ever see yourself getting married?’
‘It isn’t very high on my list of priorities but I guess I’d change my mind soon enough if I were to meet the right person.’
‘That’s what it’s all about. The right person.’
She knew what was going through his mind. He had never spoken to her before about his wife and son.
‘Carrie was the right person,’ he said at length.
‘Where did you meet her?’
‘At Elaine’s.’
‘The bar on Second Avenue?’
‘Yeah. I was there with a few of the guys from Delta. We’d just been given leave after the fiasco of Operation Eagle Claw, the so-called attempt to rescue the American hostages’ from our embassy in Tehran back in 1980. She was there with some of her girlfriends from Van Cleef and Arpels; that’s where she used to work. We managed to persuade them to come and sit with us and she ended up next to me. Well, we just got talking and she agreed to have dinner with me the following night. We were married five months later.’ His smile was sad. ‘She was really shy. It went back to her childhood when she had been teased by her schoolmates about her stammer. She’d overcome it by the time she was eighteen but it still surfaced when she got excited about something.’
‘And when was your son born?’
‘A year, almost to the day, after the marriage. She always wanted Mikey to go on to university and become a doctor or a lawyer. I only ever wanted him to grow up to become a pro-ball player. I took him to the first Giants game when he was three. He took to it like a duck to water and from then on he’d grill me for hours on end about the various types of plays, especially when we were watching it on TV. I’d always imagined that one day I’d be able to turn to the guy beside me at the Giants Stadium and say “That’s my kid playing down there”. I’d have been the proudest father in the history of the game.’
‘Did he look like you at that age?’
‘The spitting image according to my mother.’ He pulled out his wallet, opened it, and handed a picture to her. ‘That’s the last photograph of them I ever took. It was still in the camera when they were abducted. I nearly didn’t have it developed but now I’m real glad I did. I’ve got an enlarged print of it on my bedside table.’
She stared at the photograph and immediately saw why he had been attracted to Carrie.
She was squatting down in the photograph and Sabrina estimated her to have been a little over five feet with a slender petite figure and a pale, milky complexion. She had the kind of wide, alluring brown eyes the Fifties’ authors would have described as ‘big enough to drown a man’. Mike Junior was standing beside her in a Giants sweatshirt, a football tucked under his arm. He had a cheeky mischievous face and his fine blond hair came down almost to his shoulders.
‘He looks like he must have been pretty naughty,’ she said, and handed the picture back to him.
‘As naughty as most five-year-olds I guess,’ he replied, pocketing the wallet. ‘I still lie awake at night trying to justify the decision I made in Libya. I sacrificed my family for the sake of seven terrorists who were planning bombing raids in some of America’s major cities. My order to attack undoubtedly saved a lot of other innocent lives but it still doesn’t give me peace of mind. Morally it was right, personally it was wrong. There’s no in-between.’
‘As you said earlier, the only person who knows their true inner strength is themselves. It’s something you’ll have to come to terms with yourself.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Thanks?’
‘For not patronizing me like everyone else. You talk more sense than all those psychiatrists put together.’ He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Come on, time to get some sleep.’
She stood up and stifled a yawn. ‘How’s the head?’
‘Buzzing,’ he replied, turning the couchette over to get at the narrow bed.
‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ she said, moving to the communicating door.
‘Sabrina?’
She paused as she was about to close the door and looked back at him.
‘The man who had Carrie and Mikey kidnapped was trained at Balashikha.’
‘It wasn’t–?’
‘No, it wasn’t Hendrique.’ The cynicism seemed to flood back into his eyes. ‘You asked me earlier what would happen if you were the one who ended up confronting him. Don’t worry, you won’t. He’s mine.’
She felt a shiver run up her spine as she closed the door behind her.
Seven
The man who joined Hendrique for breakfast the following morning was Eddie Kyle. He was a stocky, forty-year-old Londoner with a pale skin and crew-cut red hair. He had a long criminal record at Scotland Yard and was currently on their wanted list for a variety of crimes, the most serious being the murder of an East End gangster. The murder had been ordered by Hendrique, for whom Kyle had been working during the last five years. He was also an experienced pilot of both helicopters and light planes and flew exclusively for Hendrique, ferrying both arms and drugs in and out of Amsterdam on a regular basis.
‘Everything’s been arranged,’ Kyle said.
‘Excellent.’ Hendrique looked up as Sabrina entered the dining car. ‘Is that the woman who shot Rauff?’
Kyle pretended to gaze around the carriage, his eyes lingering on her for a moment. ‘That’s her all right.’
‘Are you sure? You said her face was partially hidden under an anorak hood.’
Kyle grinned. ‘I never saw her face properly but I’m not likely to forget a figure like that. It’s her all right. What a pity.’
‘Getting sentimental in your old age?’ Hendrique asked disdainfully.