7
The tape started to spin in the console.
Koba now had the three of us lying down beside the Merc’s open door, but we could see everything we needed to. We had a pretty good view of one of the monitors; Koba and his Desert Eagle had a very good view of us.
To start with, Paata and Nana seemed more interested in what the f*ck had happened to Eduard. I was getting the hang of this Paperclip now. Where was he? But then they went quiet as he concentrated on the screen and she flicked through Baz’s papers.
The picture quality was nothing to be ashamed of, given what it had been through. It was a bit gritty and f*cked up by the mud, but it was clearly and unmistakably Jim Bastendorf coming into Charlie’s hotel room at the Marriott.
The little 10x8 screen didn’t do full justice to Charlie’s disguise, but it still brought a smile to my face. He’d remembered to keep his back to the lens, which was a smart move, given his outfit. He’d draped a towel over his head and shoulders, like a boxer, but no-one was going to confuse him with Muhammad Ali. He’d topped off the whole ensemble with a shower cap.
Somebody said something, but the sound quality was poor. Paata rewound the tape a few frames and turned up the volume.
We all listened to Bastard telling Charlie the reason he needed him to get into the house on Saturday night. ‘The f*ck’s away until Sunday.’ He pointed a finger at the bathrobe in front of him. ‘So it’s got to be Saturday night, you got it?’
I flicked my eyes from the screen to the open barn doors. The rain-drenched track was beginning to look more like a duck pond. How long would it take for the police to arrive? And where would they come from? If there was a station in Borjomi itself, we could be seeing blue-and-whites any minute.
Koba was still standing, rock solid, a very professional three metres from our backs. What were the odds of gripping him and that .357 before we heard sirens? We had to be in with a chance. There were three of us, counting Bastard, and I guessed he’d pitch in. He’d gone far too quiet for my liking, but I knew he wouldn’t want to be lifted any more than we did.
Nana looked across at me. ‘Do you know what this says?’
I shook my head.
I had another go at explaining why we’d been in Baz’s house, but she just carried on reading. I wished now that I had taken action when Koba had kicked us to our feet and walked us the dozen or so paces to the van. No matter what, she was going to wait for the police.
But what the f*ck, I told her everything I knew; how Bastard came into the story, why we were at the house – and how the tape proved not only that Bastard was part of the operation, but that we didn’t even know Baz was going to be there . . .
‘Hey, lady,’ Bastard chipped in. ‘I just do what I’m told. I knew nothing about that killing shit. I didn’t know he was gonna come home . . .’
He was wasting his breath. We both were. Nana’s head was down, and less than halfway through the second page she lifted a hand to silence us.
The folder was on her lap. I watched a tear fall from her cheek and land on the page.
‘Oh my God.’ She stifled a sob. ‘Oh my God . . .’ Her hand reached out and gently touched Paata’s back. ‘We must go live with this – right now.’