He’d slept fully dressed, as always, and back in the bedroom he stripped off his trousers and shirt. He did a workout and then ran a bath. The shower looked particularly appealing but he resisted its pull. With his head under the stream of pressurised water, it wouldn’t take an expert to break into his room without him knowing about it. Only in the safety of his own house had he allowed himself the pleasure of a shower.
When the tub was almost full, he climbed in. The water was near scalding and just how he liked it. He lowered himself slowly until only his head and knees were protruding from the water. Unusually, the taps faced away from the door so he could bathe without stainless steel jabbing into him. He allowed himself half an hour, which wasn’t tactically shrewd, but he needed the bath’s help to relax his mind. The last ten days had been busy. Two contracts fulfilled with a gunfight in between. And people who worked nine-to-five claimed to have it tough.
He knew he had little justification to complain, however. No one had forced him into the life he led. He didn’t like to think about the past, but he knew he’d taken all the steps towards who he was today willingly, even if at the time he didn’t know in which direction those steps would eventually lead him. It was what he was good at, what he’d always been good at. From the fox to his first confirmed enemy kill to Farkas.
He closed his eyes and lowered his head under the water, but limited this luxury to no more than thirty divine seconds. He remembered something an associate had once told him: If you don’t like it, stop doing it. A simple statement, but true all the same. He knew it would be easier if he liked it, a lot easier, but the problem was he didn’t dislike it either. The fact the people he killed were even more execrable than himself made little difference.
He raised his head out of the water after twenty-three seconds. The relaxing effect of the bath disappeared. He felt agitated, restless. The price of thinking too much. Water splashed on the floor as he climbed out.
Later, he ate a high-protein, high-carbohydrate meal of trout and speckknodel dumplings at a nearby restaurant. He sat at a corner table, alone. The food was good but he cared more about the nutrients. The waiter, though probably no older than Victor, looked tired and old. Victor left him a considerable tip.
He had a couple of hours to kill and so explored central Linz. He visited the Lentos Museum of Art, the Castle Museum, and the seventeenth-century Church of Saint Ignatius with its bizarre choir stalls intricately carved with frightful, almost demonic figures. As the sun set, a pleasure boat ride along the Danube let him relax without constantly looking out for surveillance, before he disembarked and walked to the Hauptplatz at the heart of the old city. Tall baroque buildings surrounded the grand square, and Victor glided through the crowd to the Trinity Column at its centre.
Even if he hadn’t known exactly where to meet her, he could have used the looks and stares of the men in the square to triangulate her position. She didn’t see him approach, but few people ever did.
Victor took her wrist and she spun to face him, her surprise quickly replaced by a smile in turn quickly replaced by a kiss as she threw her arms around him.
It was dark in his hotel room. Victor lay naked on the bed. The sheets beneath him were crumpled, half on the floor. In front of the bed, a woman, bending over, retrieved her clothes from around the bed. Victor watched her, enjoying the spectacle created by her long, smooth legs and the thong that left her tanned ass cheeks exposed.
Adrianna was Swiss but born in England and spoke with the cultured accent of a British aristocrat. He knew her well enough to know she wasn’t an assassin or a cop or an agent of some intelligence service. He could relax in her company — which was an impossibility with someone he’d only just met. Victor didn’t trust anyone, but Adrianna was one of the very few people he didn’t completely distrust.
‘You shouldn’t bend over like that,’ he said. ‘It puts strain on your lower lumbar muscles. Bend with your knees instead, you’ll get a squat out of it too when you stand. Good for your thighs.’
‘Emmanuel, you are full of useless information.’ She looked back at him. ‘Turn a light on, please. I can’t see.’
‘There’s plenty of light.’
‘For you maybe. But I hate carrots.’
He said, ‘That’s not the way it works,’ and reached across the bed and switched on the second lamp. It had been repositioned so it wouldn’t cast shadows over the window.
‘Is that better?’
‘Much better, thank you.’ She found what she was looking for and stood up. ‘Bet you’ve had those blinds closed all day, haven’t you?’ He didn’t answer. ‘No wonder you’re so pale.’
He went to take a sip of his Scotch but found the glass empty. He watched Adrianna hook her bra and adjust her breasts so they sat correctly. She took a small brush from a snakeskin handbag and began running it through her hair. She could go from sex-messed to sophisticated businesswoman in under two minutes. She told Victor it was an art.
Adrianna always refused to tell him her age and when asked would simply answer, ‘Old enough.’ He didn’t tell her he knew she had just turned thirty, had a master’s degree in History from Cambridge, that both her parents were dead and her brother was living in America. He also knew that she worried about the fine lines at the corners of her eyes and that her hips were too big, but to Victor she was as close to perfect as anyone was ever likely to be. She never believed him when he told her she was beautiful.
She had an apartment in Geneva and one in London. He had been through every inch of both, though she had never invited him to either. The bugs he had planted were without invite as well. When they had first met in a Geneva bar he had shadowed her for a week before calling her number. He’d continued to shadow her on occasions in the following months. There had been nothing to be suspicious of. Which had surprised him. Eventually he had removed the bugs as an undisclosed courtesy. After all, he was a gentleman.
He poured himself a large measure of Chivas Regal. It was one of his preferred brands. A blend, but it trumped almost every other Scotch. Victor often found single malts to be overrated.
She laughed.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘I can tell you missed me.’
‘Why’s that?’
She held up a cream silk blouse and cast him a sly smile. ‘It’s torn.’
‘You look better without it.’
She made a face and said, ‘Hmm.’ She slipped the ripped blouse on and buttoned it up as far as it would go. She huffed, pushing her fingers through the holes so Victor could see the top three buttons were missing.
He shrugged. ‘I’ll find them and put them aside.’
‘Throw them away, I don’t sew.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘Both.’
‘Okay, I’ll buy you a new one.’
‘It’s last season’s,’ she said, pouting. ‘You won’t be able to get it any more.’
He sat up straighter. ‘Then I’ll have to buy you two others from this season, won’t I?’
She grinned.
‘How about I take you for a late dinner?’
She zipped up her skirt and tucked the blouse in. ‘I’d love to, but I really can’t. Business to take care of.’
‘You work too hard.’
‘Need to pay the bills.’ She sat on the end of the bed and bounced up and down a little, as much as the bed would allow. ‘It’s hard as concrete. You should complain.’
‘I like it.’
‘I’m amazed you get any sleep.’ She put her shoes on, then was still for a moment, she spoke softly. ‘Do you realise this is the first time I’ve seen you in over half a year?’ She paused. ‘I was afraid you were never going to call me again.’
He didn’t look at her. ‘I’ve been busy.’