Cold Blood Read online

  Jack was still staring at me, mystified. Maybe he was wondering if this was all part of some scheme of his old man’s. He also didn’t seem too pleased about his mates welcoming me, but right now there was nothing he could do about it. And since I’d gained entry I decided I might as well stick around and find out where Stedman had got the finance for the trip.

  While he was still busy tapping away one-handed at shit on his phone, I watched Leila. Ponytail had spooked her, all right, and her expression suggested that she knew full well what he’d been on about, but when I gave her a questioning look she pretended not to understand.

  Eventually Stedman got tired of trying to complete his download and turned to her, giving me an appreciative wink on the way. ‘Anything I need to know?’

  Leila shook her head.

  ‘Good show.’

  He sounded a bit of a Hooray: no end of confidence, not much curiosity – a lethal combination I’d experienced from too many Ruperts down the years. It was a great defence mechanism, enabling them to sail along oblivious to all the shit kicking off around them. Half of me admired it; the other half went ballistic.

  He treated me to the world’s biggest grin. ‘Nice work.’

  I put out my left hand in deference to the lack of his right. ‘Nick.’

  ‘Stedman. I know, a surname. I’ve been saddled with it since prep school.’

  We shook.

  ‘Ready for the big walk?’

  He leaned across the table as if he was about to whisper something, but his volume was turned up high enough for everyone to hear. He jabbed a finger in Jack’s direction. ‘That one-legged fucker tried to get rid of me. Didn’t think I’d cut it – did you?’

  His eyes were a touch watery. He was just as pissed as the rest of them, but his extreme indignation was only partly fuelled by alcohol. From where I sat, their once brotherly bond had mutated into a barely repressed rivalry – potentially lethal in a situation where survival would depend on absolute trust and cooperation. I reckoned a pat on the back from Stedman would be a recce for a stabbing.

  ‘You need me now, don’t you, Jack? In fact, you can’t take a step without me, can you? Two legs, mate! I’m indi-fucking-spensable.’

  Jack laughed along, though his brow stayed furrowed. The others were clearly enjoying his discomfort and Stedman was soaking up the attention.

  ‘Wrote me off as a fucking junkie.’

  It prompted Jack to wave a finger in protest. ‘I never said that.’

  ‘Didn’t need to, did you? It was written all over your arsy face.’

  Jack groaned and rolled his eyes but let him have his moment.

  ‘So! When do we start?’ Stedman was on a roll.

  Jack raised both hands, palms upwards. ‘Soon as you get the cash. There’s a lot of kit we still need to source. And a lot of fuel we need to burn.’

  Stedman instantly recovered from his rejection and slapped the table. ‘Twenty-four hours, max. No problem. Just leave everything to me.’

  Gabriel inserted himself into the exchange, glancing from Stedman to Jack, then back to Stedman. ‘Thought you said it was a done deal.’

  Stedman smoothed the air with one flattened hand and rubbed some of the moisture out of his half-pissed eyes. ‘Like I said, this time tomorrow. OK?’ He patted his breast pocket.

  I concentrated on something in the middle distance, willing Gabriel to keep probing.

  Stedman stretched himself out in his seat and grinned at Leila, who now smiled back adoringly, as if he was the man who could make everything in her life perfect.

  ‘O-kaay.’ Gabriel was not totally satisfied with the answer. He just wanted to get stuck into the trip.

  Stedman raised his glass. ‘Here’s to you.’ He emptied what was left in it down his throat. Then he turned back to Leila and planted a fat kiss on her lips.

  She blushed. All this time her eyes had been scanning the bar, as if she was expecting Ponytail to reappear, with backup.

  ‘My round.’ There was some resistance to this as their residual gratitude bubbled up, but I had a reason to return to the bar.

  19

  The barmaid stepped towards me and looked surprised when I turned to the droid instead. I gave him my order and nodded at the door where we had deposited our friend Ponytail. ‘That guy a regular?’

  He shrugged wearily. ‘I see him before maybe.’

  Not much of an answer.

  ‘How often?’

  He jerked a thumb towards Jack’s crew. ‘Tell your friends to be careful.’

  ‘Of what, exactly?’

  ‘His people you don’t want to have problem with.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘From the mine in Barentsburg. They come from Russia, Ukraine. Stay through the summer.’ Clearly he was counting the days till winter.

  ‘Good for business, though?’

  He snorted. ‘For how long who knows? Mines are fucked. Coal nobody wants.’ He made a slashing movement with his hand. Then he gripped the edge of the bar and leaned towards me. ‘Your friends at the table are nice people. But foolish, eh? They shouldn’t be here. They don’t want to have problem with his kind. It goes best here when people do their job, then go home.’

  Before I could cram in another question he dropped my change into my palm and shuffled off to another customer. I went back to the table.

  Stedman jabbed a finger towards me, still speaking to Jack. ‘So where does he fit in?’

  ‘I don’t. I’m just passing through.’

  ‘Who passes through this arsehole of a place? There’s nowhere else to go.’

  ‘I know that now I’m here.’

  ‘So when are you flying out?’ Jack’s question sounded like an order, or an attempt at one.

  ‘Not sure yet.’

  ‘And where are you getting your head down?’ His question suggested that, wherever it was, he was looking forward to me getting out of his way.

  ‘The Radisson.’

  ‘Same as them.’ He indicated Stedman and Leila. ‘All right for some.’

  Leila got up and stared very directly at Stedman. ‘I want to go now.’

  He didn’t react.

  ‘I’m very tired. It’s been a long day.’

  Stedman pursed his lips. ‘You know the way.’

  She gave him a venomous look. Evidently she hadn’t planned on finding her own way to the hotel, especially after what had just happened.

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Can’t you see? I’m busy here.’

  It was obvious that Jack had had his fill of me. Which made it my cue to leave. ‘I’ll walk you back.’

  Leila smiled. Stedman seemed relieved. So did Jack, I guessed for different reasons.

  As I got to my feet I offered him my hand and he took it. ‘Nick, sorry for getting pissed off at you. It’s just the old man – you know.’

  We separated and I put on my duvet jacket, zipped up my day sack and threw it over one shoulder.

  ‘And thanks for what you did earlier. Appreciate it.’

  I waved away the gratitude and nodded at the others. ‘Good luck.’

  Leila had also gathered her stuff and we turned for the door. Jack held out his hand once more and we repeated the performance.

  There was a thump as Gabriel slammed his half-leg down on the table. His carbon-fibre foot kept his new calf upright as he and Rio started to pour their beers into Gabriel’s new drinking jug.

  ‘Good to see you again, Jack. I hope your plans work out.’ I meant what I said. He deserved a break. They all did.

  We left as Gabriel began sharing the contents of his new beer jug with Rio.

  20

  It wasn’t far – we probably had fifteen minutes to fill en route. Maybe she wasn’t the chatty type. I’d find out soon enough.

  I pushed open the outer door and we were assaulted by air that was even colder than when I’d landed. ‘So Stedman’s saved the day.’

  She grimaced. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Y
ou don’t think he’ll get the money tomorrow?’

  She shook her head. ‘Oh, no, not at all. He will.’

  ‘You’re worried they won’t make it?’

  She laughed at the very idea. ‘Nothing gets in Stedman’s way. He needs challenge like dog needs bone.’

  ‘Why aren’t you going to be part of it? It would be a once-in-a-lifetime trip.’

  She chortled, like it was the craziest thing she’d ever heard. She was loosening up a bit. ‘No way. I go back to London as soon as they leave.’

  The wind knifed into us.

  ‘So how did you two meet?’

  She smiled. I braced myself for the love story of the century.

  ‘He came to Kiev to close a contract to supply not guns, but kit – body armour, NV goggles. He hired me as interpreter.’

  ‘You’ve always done that, interpreting?’

  She flared her studded nostrils. ‘Why not? I am bilingual. I have master’s in linguistics from Kiev University.’

  Prickly.

  ‘People like you are the reason us Brits are so crap at languages.’ The charm offensive wasn’t doing it, but I didn’t let that stop me. ‘And now you’re based in London?’

  She cheered up. ‘London is most wonderful city in the world.’

  London: safe haven for the best and brightest in flight from all the world’s black spots. Ukraine had recently joined the list. Their loss, our gain.

  ‘The ponytail guy in the bar – he’s from Ukraine too? Someone you know?’

  ‘Why would I?’ Now she was angry and embarrassed.

  Realizing I could tell she was lying, she glanced over her shoulder to check out the street.

  ‘So tell me then. What was the rant about?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘You know “rant”? Angry speech, outburst …’

  ‘It was nothing. Just some idiot.’

  ‘He was upset at seeing a Ukrainian beauty sitting with decadent Westerners?’

  ‘I said it was nothing.’

  ‘People don’t get knives out for nothing.’

  ‘How should I know?’ Her voice went up an octave. ‘He was drunk. Who cares?’

  ‘So, nothing to do with money, then. Or percentages. Or competition.’

  She peered at me from inside her hood. I could see her thinking: How much did this guy hear or understand? ‘What are you? A fucking spy?’

  ‘I’m just watching Jack’s back.’

  She was very agitated now. I was on to something.

  ‘Was it about you, or something to do with Stedman?’

  She stopped suddenly and pushed her face so close to mine that I could see the indentations of her nose jewel. ‘Who are you? Nobody! You should keep out of other people’s fucking businesses.’ Her eyes flashed and her face froze and her expression became unreadable. ‘I am going to hotel now. Good night.’

  She turned a corner.

  ‘Leila …’

  Nothing.

  ‘Leila?’

  ‘Yes?’ Her voice carried back to me through the darkness.

  ‘The hotel’s the other way.’

  21

  My room was hot and stank of stale, recycled air. I shook off my coat and boots and made myself a brew. The sachet of instant coffee might have been left behind by one of the first polar explorers – what had once been granules fell out of the wrapper like a solid lump of toffee.

  There was no point in talking to Cauldwell or Jack again. They were big enough and ugly enough to sort themselves out.

  I lay down and shut my eyes. Big mistake. I couldn’t stop Anna and Nicholai crowding in on me. I opened them, and they were still there. Sleep was off the agenda. Staying awake and doing stuff was the only way I could sometimes keep them at bay.

  I was still numb about their death. If I’d described what I was going through to anyone, which I hadn’t, I’d have said my brain had flipped a switch inside me in an attempt to put my whole system on standby, and pushed whatever I should be feeling into somewhere safe until I could find the strength to take it out and deal with it.

  I’d lost friends before, loved ones, too. Was it possible that there had been so many of them that I’d become immune to grief?

  I hadn’t gone to see Anna’s body in the hospital, or Nicholai’s, and I hadn’t stood at their gravesides. Maybe I should have. My mantra had always been Why worry about what you can’t change? For the first time ever, it wasn’t doing its job. Some days, I was rooted in the shallows, unable to move, being knocked back repeatedly by a series of massive waves and left breathless and disoriented. Others, my head was just above water, but the undertow could drag me down at any moment. Mostly the waves were up to my waist and it took all my strength simply to walk through them.

  I wrenched myself back to the real world. Maybe it wasn’t a ‘fuck it’ after all. Jack could be facing a bit of drama, as well as the others. Stedman didn’t add up, and Ponytail’s appearance only reinforced the feeling.

  Whatever Leila was doing with Stedman in Svalbard had to be connected with Ponytail and his protsent – or someone else’s. And he hadn’t run across her by chance: he’d barged into the place and made a beeline for her. What was their history? Maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe he was just pissed off with Stedman, and language was all they had in common. That made some kind of sense. Perhaps she really was along for the ride.

  But, fuck it, so what? If Stedman took delivery of the funding tomorrow, they’d all get to go on the trip. Only Cauldwell would be pissed off, which wasn’t a bad thing.

  I turned over and pulled the blankets almost over my head, trying to persuade myself that I’d drift off to sleep and wake up in the morning without being assaulted by any uncomfortable thoughts or dreams or nightmares.

  Of course it wasn’t happening. I lay on my side, staring at the chrome doorknob to the bathroom, thinking about Jack and his dad and how fucked up they were. But no matter how fucked up Cauldwell appeared to his son, at least he still had a son to worry about, even if he displayed his concern in such a dysfunctional way. Who knew? Maybe I would have gone the same route.

  Sleep stayed beyond my reach. I wasn’t sure I wanted it. I got up, emptied another solid block of ancient Nescafé into the used mug, put the kettle on, munched the two complimentary ginger nuts as I waited for it to boil, and asked myself a question I’d spent a lifetime trying to avoid: what next?

  Cauldwell was pissed off that Rune wasn’t going, and even more pissed off that Stedman was – but again, so what? He’d still want to make sure his son came back alive, even if it was only so he could say, ‘I told you so.’ Tough. Jack wasn’t going to allow that.

  Steam billowed out of the spout and I spent a couple of minutes prodding the block of instant, a mini-iceberg in the mug, encouraging it to dissolve.

  Maybe I was taking too long to get this brew drinkable. Maybe I was trying to give myself a different reason for wanting to make sure Jack would be OK, and that the trip would happen without anyone getting on the wrong end of a Ukrainian cable-cutter. As I sat down on a chair that was pretending to be leather, at a table that was pretending to be wood, I tried to be honest with myself.

  Was I trying to fill a void? Was I jumping through Cauldwell’s hoops because Jack was his son and I no longer had one?

  I wasn’t there for the money. I had half a million USD sitting in a Zürich bank account. Millions had fallen into my lap over the last couple of years; it had had nowhere else to go because its previous owner was dead. I’d tried to put the whole lot in trust for Nicholai when I’d split from Anna, but she’d insisted I keep a few quid for myself. Luckily, I’d let her win – the Swiss lawyers said the trust would take years to unravel.

  Was I there because Anna wouldn’t have wanted me to curl up on the floor and sob into the carpet? If I was to get through this, I had to keep moving. It had to be better to move away from the shit in my head instead of towards it, right?

  One thing I did know: I was never going t
o do drugs or alcohol to avoid it. Avoiding sleep seemed to help. Every time I closed my eyes, I had the same nightmare. I woke up in the morning and my face was wet.

  Maybe I’d thrown myself into the land of the midnight sun because sleep there was almost an extreme sport. People who lived in the High North experienced extremes of light and darkness, summer and winter, which produced winners and losers. I told myself that if I could stay awake, I’d be a winner.

  So, yeah, that was it.

  Maybe.

  Keep myself awake and I’d be bombproof.

  In truth, all I knew was that thinking about it made me more tired than I’d ever been in my life. Made my eyelids so heavy that I couldn’t stop them drooping, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d fall into the darkness.

  22

  I jerked awake, still in the fake leather chair, covered with sweat.

  I opened my laptop. I had to do something – anything – to snap myself out of it.

  Stedman and Jack had developed quite a bond in rehab. Lads with their kind of challenges tended to huddle together and get quite tribal, especially when the rest of the world hadn’t a clue how to deal with them. But Jack had dropped Stedman from the expedition. A habit was a pretty basic no-no, and in Stedman’s situation it often went with drug dependence, if you didn’t get a mental grip. But now his disqualification had been forgotten because he’d found a suitcase full of cash. Had he done it in Ukraine? And did it come with one of those devices that would blow up in Jack’s face when he opened it?

  Stedman’s online presence was next to zero. No Facebook, Twitter or Instagram, which didn’t go with his extrovert persona and taste for being at the centre of things. There was no address or registered company listing either. In this day and age that really was being invisible. The only rational explanation was that his profile had been given a good wipe-down by someone who knew what they were doing. So what had made him want to keep his head down?

  I tried browsing images. There was the inevitable avalanche of Stedmans from around the world, posing golf club in hand. I was about to bin it in when something caught my eye – a big colour photo of a City type looking serious outside Snaresbrook Crown Court. And beside him, there was Stedman, in full uniform, shaved and groomed, every inch the upright British officer. I hit the link to the Mail Online. He’d gone to all that trouble to delete himself, only to end up appearing high on the home page of a tabloid. The Invisible Man had emerged from the shadows into the spotlight. Why?