There was a moment of silence before Procter said, ‘I used to run Ariff, back in the day. It’s no secret the CIA supplied Afghan Mujahideen with Stingers to knock Soviet choppers out of the skies in the eighties. But I was the guy on the ground who got those missiles into ’Stan by using Ariff, who already had donkey trains carrying AKs across the border from Pakistan.’
‘Why would that matter now?’
‘Because even before Ariff was supplying guns and components for IEDS to Americas enemies in Iraq and Afghanistan, he was a known scumbag. Back then he supplied the PLO, Black September, Hezbollah, and every other terrorist organisation from Tripoli to Tehran. The explosives that blew up the Marine barracks in Lebanon in ’83 were from Ariff. I knew all that, but I still used him, without CIA consent. We live in a post-911 world, my man, and Ariff dropping my name at The Hague would have caused me a heap of hurt. So, yeah, I got something out of all this too. Satisfied?’
‘Surprisingly, yes.’
‘You’ve got your answers now, and you’ve got your freedom.’ Procter said, ‘So, is this where we go our separate ways?’
Victor had spent the last few days thinking about little else. Procter had withheld information from him, creating extra problems, extra risks. But he had revealed his identity to prove Victor could trust him. That meant a lot.
He said, ‘I don’t feel the same pressing need to part company I felt before.’
‘I hoped you’d say that. But I didn’t expect you to.’
‘When my actions become predictable, my life will fall into the past tense.’
‘Does this mean that you finally trust me?’
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’
Another pause, maybe for another smile, before Procter said, ‘I’ll contact you when I need you again.’
‘Which will be?’
‘I don’t know. Could be a while.’
‘Suits me,’ Victor said. ‘It’s been a long two months.’
‘For you and me both.’ Procter paused a moment and said. ‘Take care.’
The line disconnected. Victor opened up an internet browser and accessed his other email accounts. He had another email from Alonso and two from other brokers. The contracts offered were for high figures and low risks. They would be simple to complete without Procter’s knowledge.
Victor deleted the emails and deactivated the accounts.
For the first time in a long time he felt truly relaxed. He made a phone call.
Adrianna answered with a cheery, ‘ Allo.’
‘It’s Emmanuel,’ Victor said. ‘How do you fancy a day in Sofia?’
CHAPTER 60
Victor met Adrianna in the lobby of the Grand Hotel Sofia. The large marble, granite and glass-fronted hotel was located in the centre of the city, overlooking the City Garden. He’d changed hotels after she’d agreed to meet him as his previous modest accommodation would not have met with Adrianna’s approval. She wore a long flowing dress that seemed to float across her figure as she wheeled an overnight suitcase behind her. Her wavy brown hair hung loose and sunglasses rested on top of her head.
‘You look so different,’ she announced as Victor approached. ‘I love the tan and longer hair. Very sexy.’
She flicked a lock of hair for emphasis before they embraced and kissed. Victor was careful to pull away before her hands could drift down his back to where an FN Five-seveN handgun was tucked into his waistband.
‘You’ve lost some weight,’ he said.
She beamed. ‘You noticed.’
He hadn’t. ‘How was your flight?’
‘A pleasure.’ She took a tourist guide from her handbag. ‘I’ve been learning all about Sofia.’
Once they’d dropped her case off in Victor’s room and freshened up, they set out to explore Sofia. The City Art Gallery was close to the hotel, so they began there, discussing the exhibits and which they liked and why. Afterwards they used the city’s yellow trams to visit some of Sofia’s many historic Orthodox churches, of which the highlight was the impressive Alexander Nevsky Cathedral with its one hundred and fifty feet high gold-domed basilica.
Aside from the odd communist era tower blocks scarring the skyline, Sofia was a typically beautiful historic European capital. Victor liked the juxtaposition of architectural styles — Western and Central European, neoclassical and Stalinist, Roman and Byzantine. The ever-changing architecture gave each tree-lined street its own unique identity and feel. The roads of the city centre seemed to be almost entirely paved with yellow cobblestones.
‘From Vienna,’ Adrianna was quick to tell him.
It may have been Adrianna’s first visit, but Victor had been a couple of times before, and had always found Bulgarians to be almost universally friendly and welcoming. This time was no different. He liked the climate too, warm but not hot, maybe seventy degrees today.
They ate a late lunch at one of Sofia’s many open-air cafes, where they enjoyed the sun on their faces and the frenetic chatter of the surrounding locals. Victor knew enough of the language to get by and taught Adrianna the odd phrase. Together they tried to follow some of the lightning-fast conversations of those surrounding them, always quickly failing and adding their own fictitious translations.
‘He’s dumping her,’ Adrianna explained as they slyly watched a couple of middle-aged Bulgarians arguing, ‘because her breath smells like old socks.’
He smiled as, out of habit, he watched the crowd for shadows.
As evening came they returned to the hotel to wash and change. Chopin’s Andante Spianato et Grande Polonaise in E-flat major flowed through the room’s radio as Victor buttoned his shirt with one hand. The fingers of his other hand gently moved to the music, pressing imaginary keys.
Adrianna, fixing in earrings, noticed him. ‘Do you play?’
‘I haven’t in months.’ He finished buttoning his shirt with both hands.
‘Any reason why?’
‘I just haven’t had the opportunity.’
He couldn’t help but picture his most prized possessions, a nineteenth-century Vose amp; Sons Square Grand piano, which was now only ashes.
‘I think there’s a piano in one of the hotel bars. I’m sure they’d let you, if we ask.’
‘I’ll be too rusty. I don’t want to embarrass myself,’ he said, using the pretence of shyness to hide the fact that years of trying to remain unnoticed had conditioned him to find such acts as publically playing a piano to be an impossibility.
He finished getting ready, and while Adrianna was in the bathroom, tucked his gun into the waistband over his right hip. He would make sure she walked on his left side only.
‘What do you think?’ Adrianna said as she emerged back into the bedroom.
She looked gorgeous in a black evening gown, pashmina wrapped around her shoulders, and her hair tied up.
Victor didn’t disappoint, and said, ‘Stunning.’
Her glossy lips formed a huge smile.
The National Theatre was only a block away from the hotel. Elegant uplights bathed the grand early twentieth-century building in a golden glow. At the box office, Victor collected tickets for a performance of Puccini’s Turandot. They sat in a box on the south-west wall and watched the performance with opera glasses, Adrianna enraptured by the spectacle and moved to the point of tears by the arias. Afterwards, they walked through the gardens set before the opera house while they discussed the performance.
Other opera-goers did the same, and tourists snapped photographs of the theatre. Couples sat on stone benches and held hands.
Adrianna linked her right arm with Victor’s left and said, ‘I’ve had such a wonderful day. Thank you for inviting me here.’
‘My pleasure,’ Victor replied.
‘After Linz, I wasn’t sure we were going to see each other any more.’
‘What made you think that?’
She took a moment to answer, either struggling to articulate her thoughts or just hesitant of what she was about to say. ‘I’m not sure really, but you seemed so different the last time I saw you. Like a different you. I wasn’t sure if I would fit in with the change, that’s all.’