The Game (Tom Wood)

TWENTY-TWO





Budapest, Hungary

The man who some people knew as Robert Leeson relaxed in the back of the Rolls-Royce Phantom. He had removed his hand-crafted brown loafers and rested his feet on the chair opposite. The seating position that resulted was exceptionally comfortable. The window curtains were drawn and the partition between the compartment and the driver’s cab was closed to provide Leeson with the privacy he both required and relished. He lounged in darkness, cocooned and protected from the savagery of the world outside. The compartment was so well insulated that Leeson was barely aware of the fact he was inside a moving motor vehicle. The ride was wonderfully smooth. No jolts from the suspension. No vibration.

No exterior sounds were audible to dilute the glorious music that emanated from the Rolls-Royce’s top of the range sound system. The London Philharmonic Orchestra Choir were performing a stirring rendition of Thomas Tallis’s Gaude gloriosa Dei Mater. Leeson sipped twenty-four-year-old single malt and sang along in Latin.

As the anthem finished he dabbed his watery eyes with an Egyptian cotton handkerchief and thumbed a button on the console to mute the speakers before he was enraptured by more beauteous sound. Tallis made Mozart and Beethoven seem like amateurs.

From one of the console’s compartments he took out a satellite phone and powered it on. He entered a phone number known only to himself and to the person who answered when the line connected. The satellite phone sent out a signal scrambled by a custom encryption algorithm created by a code-writing genius currently rotting in a Siberian jail because he refused to use his skills for the Russian intelligence services. He would change his mind eventually, Leeson knew, when youth faded into maturity and blind idealism became secondary to the pursuit of life’s little luxuries. Leeson knew this because he had once been an idealist. But he had grown up, albeit younger than most did.

‘How did it go?’

The voice that sounded through the phone’s speaker was clear but did not belong to the person on the other end of the line. It had been manipulated by a scrambler that altered the tone, tune, volume and pitch of the speaker’s voice. The result was a perfect disguise only identifiable by the slight electronic quality that occasionally affected words in a similar way to that of the tuneless studio-enhanced singing star. Leeson’s own voice was similarly scrambled.

‘Kooi was a most interesting individual,’ Leeson answered.

‘Tell me about him.’

‘He wasn’t quite what I was expecting from the information I had.’

‘In what sense?’

Leeson considered for a moment, before answering: ‘He was well mannered and patient and clearly of more experience than I had believed. He had no complaints about how we met. He seemed in complete control at all times, yet had to understand he was at my mercy.’

‘A front?’

‘I can tell the difference,’ Leeson said.

‘Calm?’

‘Supremely.’

‘He seems very promising thus far. But, of course, everything hinges on how he reacted to the proposal.’

Leeson topped up his Scotch from the crystal decanter. ‘He said no.’

‘Was there hesitation?’

‘Not a second’s deliberation. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t think about it. He looked at my watch as if it was a piece of junk.’

‘Did you increase the offer?’

‘Of course. I offered to double the money. It didn’t even tempt him.’

‘Fascinating,’ the voice said.

‘He was a fascinating individual.’

‘Do you think he’ll be suitable?’

‘That would first depend on how the insurance policy is coming together.’

‘Perfectly,’ the voice said.

‘Excellent to know.’

The voice said, ‘So is he suitable for the position?’

Leeson considered again. ‘Yes and no.’

‘Yes and no?’ the voice echoed.

‘Yes for the reasons already discussed. He can do what we need him to.’

‘But?’

‘But there is something about him that is dangerous.’

‘As he is a professional killer, I would have been most surprised had he exuded no danger.’

‘That’s not what I mean,’ Leeson said. ‘There was something in his manner I have not encountered before. Something I cannot articulate.’

‘It’s not like you to be lost for words.’

He swallowed some Scotch. ‘I am equally aware of the anomaly.’

The voice said, ‘I’m not sure how much consideration we can give to a feeling that you can’t even describe.’

‘I’m not saying we should. But it is necessary to be frank and honest in my assessment. We need to hire the right man for a very specific kind of job. Neither of us can afford to make a hasty decision.’

‘And it would be, had your discussion with Mr Kooi not been the last step of a journey begun long ago, and your assessment of him need only include your conclusion of his suitability. So, my advice would be to discount any inexpressible feelings you might have about the man, and tell me whether we can proceed with him. Yes or no?’

Leeson drained his glass and delivered his answer.