Читать книгу Any Means Necessary - Shane Britten - Страница 3

The familiar, comforting sight of Philip in all his sophisticated glory was just the relief I needed. My heart rate still slightly faster than normal, I covered the distance to the park bench he had selected on near silent feet. I’d known him for years and yet still felt the need to smooth down the navy suit and white business shirt that accompanied my simple dark tie. It was, after all, important for an assassin to blend in, especially one who had killed two people mere hours earlier.

Philip looked tired. His face, though always lined and drawn, was paler and seemed less animated than usual. There was a slight tremble to his liver-spotted hand as it rested on the rear of the bench. I put my personal concern aside as I scanned the area. No one in the immediate vicinity, a mother struggling to walk both a boisterous dog and a pram some 100 yards away, and the usual passage of joggers and walkers. Philip had picked a good spot.

I unbuttoned my suit jacket and sat next to him, breathing the fresh morning air. Philip’s dark, narrowed eyes were drawn to a few small tears in the leg of my suit pants; his eyebrow arched in a way that demanded an answer.

‘He had a dog,’ I shrugged dismissively.

‘Appearance,’ he started in his gravelly, preaching tone…

‘…is just as important as performance.’ I finished his quote with him, which drew a faint smile.

‘How are you, Valen?’ he asked.

I frowned, glancing in a circle around us, protective of my name. He acknowledged the mistake with a slight nod of apology.

‘Tired,’ I replied, gratefully accepting the coffee he poured into a ceramic mug from the thermos beside him – no plastic for Philip. Black, unsweetened. He knew what I liked. ‘It was worse than we thought. My timing was off; I was too late. But the girls are safe now, under Sister Mary’s care. All but one of them, anyway.’

There was silence for a moment, Philip’s dark eyes shifted from me to the water in front of us and I could see his lips moving silently in what I knew to be an inaudible prayer. Religion might seem out of place for a man who commanded an assassin, but Philip held to his beliefs tightly. I was never sure how that weighed into his decision-making; I had no such compunctions.

‘And our target?’ he asked, sharp eyes scrutinising my face.

I took another long sip of coffee, feeling the warmth spread through me and giving a sigh of contentment. ‘He couldn’t live with the guilt and took his own life,’ I replied, meeting Philip’s gaze evenly. ‘He had a client there who met his fate at the hands of the girl he’d killed.’

Philip nodded and we both turned to stare out over the lake. It was a still autumn day in Canberra, the capital of Australia, the promise of some warmth lingering on the horizon in the emerging sun and barely a ripple on the water.

The companionable silence stretched on, broken only by my rapid consumption of the harsh black coffee. It had been a tough job, physically and emotionally, and I could feel the tightening in my back and sides that hinted at the toll the job had taken on me.

To kill a man was easy enough, at least physically. But to remove suspicion of murder with an uncooperative target was another thing altogether. I leaned back against the bench’s weather-worn wood and gave my tired eyes a rub. I could have slept before coming to see Philip, but we had an agreement to debrief jobs as soon as possible after their conclusion. In the military, it was called a hot debrief.

‘I have another one for you,’ Philip’s voice was quiet.

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. Our jobs were normally broken up by at least a few weeks to give me a chance to recover physically and emotionally.

‘It comes from James.’ His voice was even softer and it was clear why. A gnawing pit had opened in my stomach and not just because I was ravenous. The only James he was likely to refer to by a single name was the head of the federal security service, called the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation, or ASIO. Bad enough that he knew of the existence of our rogue, highly illegal operation, even if he did think we were a private investigations firm; for him to task us directly was inherently dangerous.

‘His son has joined a NERE group.’ Philip raised a hand to address the incredulous look on my face. National Extremists and Racist Extremists were an increasing occurrence in the Western world, covering everything from neo-Nazi groups to anti-immigration advocates. These groups were rarely of interest to us and operationally dangerous to investigate, being prone to violence and suspicious of any outsiders. ‘I know,’ he added quickly, ‘that this is unusual for us. But James is worried, more than I’ve ever seen.’ I was aware Philip also looked more serious and more tired than I could remember.

‘The boy’s girlfriend has also joined.’

So that was it. It was an unusual relationship, but given the strong links between their fathers, it made sense for James’s son to date the Prime Minister’s daughter.

‘Contact with their parents?’ I asked, accepting the case with no further protest.

Philip smiled his gratitude, paired with an affectionate pat of my forearm. ‘Limited, by email. Only two from each of them, and the last email from each is identical. It’s all here for you.’ He reached down and picked up a messenger-style briefcase – an expensive brand named Tumi – complete with a small combination lock. It was an indiscreet way to exchange information, and I couldn’t help but glance around us once more.

‘ROE?’ I asked, studying him closely.

Philip was quiet and the silence stretched on for long moments. The gentle lapping of the lake water was disproportionately loud against the sudden lack of speech from the man who dictated just how messy my life was about to become.

‘Get them out. Your rules of engagement are by whatever means necessary.’