'The time came when she said she'd have to be moving on. I knew I loved her, even though we'd known each other less than a week. Maybe I needed someone to love. My mother was recently dead, and I guessed that at the rate I was burning myself up it wouldn't be too long before I'd be joining her. And now there was Natasha to fill a void I had never thought would exist, and I just couldn't see anything to stop us being together. But she could: the Mob. So I asked her why shouldn't we go and tell her story to the local police, the Surete? She said they were in Castellano's pocket. So I said she should think about something: next time she'd be in Marseille, let me know beforehand and I would be there to take her out of it; to England where she'd be safe. Or comparatively safe, anyway. And she said okay.
'So on our last night together I was in a pretty frustrated mood. And wouldn't you know it? Her tail was there as always. I would know him anywhere: this tall man with his thin white face and dark eyes. But we had made our plans and the next time Natasha was in town would be the last time. She would come with me into England on a tourist visa, we'd get married, and she would stay on as my wife. It seemed more than likely she'd be lost to the Mob for good. So maybe she thought we should seal our pact. Or perhaps it was more than that; maybe she simply wanted to be with me on what would be our last night for some time to come.
'Anyway, she said yes, she would come back to my hotel with me. But there was no way I intended to have the tall fellow for company!
'We took a taxi to a bar a stone's throw from my hotel, and when Natasha went to the ladies' I waited just inside the door.
Sure enough, a car pulled up and the tail got out. And that finally did it for me; I'd had it up to here. So, stepping outside, I didn't bother to introduce myself but simply lashed out and knocked him down. Some of the stuff the SAS had taught me was finally coming in useful. And before he was even nearly ready to get up again, I took Natasha off to my hotel.
'Looking back on it now — oh, I was some kind of clown! To actually believe I could get away with it. Worse, I hadn't considered the repercussions where Natasha was concerned. Though I certainly did the next morning…
'After breakfast, when I took her down to catch a taxi, the heavies were there. And this time I didn't see them, didn't see it coming — didn't even feel it until I woke up at Castellano's villa. Not that I knew where I was at the time; my location was something I found out later. Anyway:
'… I was tied to a chair in one of the bedrooms. And Natasha was tied to a bed. We were both in our underwear. I seem to remember windows with thick drapes, so that not even a chink of sunlight came through. But it felt like day. Midday, quiet, too hot outside to even think of movement. That was what it was: no movement. A humid, drowsy day. And the room was dimly lit; wall lights turned low, and a shaded bedside lamp. But I'm way ahead of myself. At first I didn't see a damn thing, I only felt the pain in the back of my skull.
'Then, as I gradually came to, I heard voices speaking in Italian. I knew the language well enough to know they were talking about me… and Natasha. "After the girl," one voice said, "then you can have him. But first, I want him to see and understand — the spoiled English brat! I would have had her myself, a long time ago, except that might have been problematic. Even so, I was tempted. And if she'd been a little more willing… but I won't force any woman, it's too demeaning — to myself, I mean. Anyway, our colleagues in Moscow think highly, much too highly, of this bitch. And now this brat has spoiled her. Well for me, at least. I don't take anyone's leavings, Jean Daniel, so this is your lucky day; you get to do it for me. Let's face it, you've watched her often enough, and I'm sure you've fancied her just as frequently, eh? So, what better way to pay him back for what he did to you?"
' "Fancied her?" the other voice said. "Hey, I'm only human, Luigi.' And this is… this is a lot… a lot of woman
Jake's own voice as he told or relived his story had sunk very low, become guttural, until at this point he was choking on his words, having difficulty getting them out. Trask saw this and said, 'Jake, we can leave it there if you like?'
But the other shook his head. 'No,' he said grimly. 'No, I think I'd like to finish it Maybe it's good for me to remember what went down. Because then I'll be sure I was right in what I did. Yes, and it also serves to remind me of what remains to be done…' And after a moment:
'These-voices,' he went on, 'were very distinctive. The one belonged to Castellano, as I was about to find out. It was very deep and powerful; like a rumble, a purring sound, even when he was speaking quietly. And the other, this Jean Daniel's voice, it had an obvious French accent in keeping with his name. But it also had something of a lisp, which explained itself as soon as I saw him.
'Anyway, I must have twitched, moved my head or something. Maybe I groaned, but suddenly they knew I was awake. Then shadows moved in that dim room.
'They came from behind me, one pausing to stand beside my chair, the other moving towards the bed, positioning itself in an easy chair on the other side of the lamp. They were men, of course, but to my blurred vision they were more like shadows. But as my eyes adjusted and my head stopped swimming, finally I saw Natasha, spreadeagled there on the four-poster. And because she'd lifted her head she could see me, too. Maybe that — that look on her face, expressing her relief that I'd finally come to — was how they knew I'd regained consciousness. But in any case, it was an expression that didn't last much longer.
'The one beside the bed spoke, and his deep purring voice told me that this was Luigi Castellano. "Ah, Natasha, Natasha.'"
he rumbled, as she turned her pale, frightened face to look at him. "First the injury and then the insult," he said. "To have spurned my friendship, my warmest offerings of affection, for this… this Englishman's. Perhaps you didn't understand that in the game we play it's always business first — no such thing as mixing business with pleasure, Natasha. And if there was we might reasonably expect you to take your pleasures with one of us, not with some stupid outsider. Perhaps it's my fault; I allowed you too much leeway? But no, for I hate to blame myself."
'I tried to look at the speaker but he was still a shadow, a dark silhouette hunched behind the cone of faint yellow radiance from the bedside lamp. And he went on speaking:
' "But then again, what if this foreign playmate of yours wasn't so stupid after all but a member of one of those agencies we haven't yet got to, eh? You took too many chances, Natasha — took too much pleasure, I fancy — and now you must pay. Ah, but what price? Well, since you don't seem to care too much for the company of a business partner, I was obliged to find a punishment to fit your… your what, your crime? Ah, but no — too harsh by far — your error of judgement, then. A punishment to fit both participants, that is. Tit for tat, if you like. Or, better far, tits for tat?" Castellano's tone was much harsher, harder now. "Yes, and the rest of your more than ample charms into the bargain…"
'He looked up and beckoned to Jean Daniel. My chair was a swivel. The man beside me spun it, and I went turning, turning, feeling sick as a dog as the room revolved around me. At least it gave me a chance to identify my tormentor, his cold, smiling face passing before me as the chair slowed down. It was Natasha's tail, of course, and Castellano's tall pale-faced watchdog^
'Finally he spoke to me in broken English through a broken mouth, which accounted for his lisp. I hadn't realized how hard I'd hit him. "Bastard!" he said. "Stupid, English, pig bastard! When I finish with her, then is your turn. We see who hit hardest, eh?" He made to move towards the bed.
'"If you hit her," I mumbled, "if you strike her just once, I swear I'll—" But he turned, cut me off, said: