Reaction of the tiger, p.27
REACTION OF THE TIGEr, page 27
part #4 of André Warner, Manhunter Series
Some of Wharfe’s crowd glanced towards me as I found a table next to theirs and deposited my key on it. I nodded at them and they mostly nodded back. To the untrained eye the guys could have passed for city suits. The woman, who was about forty, with a face like Anthony Perkins impersonating his mother in Psycho, kept her head down as she shovelled cornflakes. Wharfe was adding some sort of syrup to a pancake and showed no interest in what was going on around him.
I crossed the room to the central breakfast bar, collected a tray, and browsed over the offerings.
‘Hi.’ A tall, rangy guy with dark slicked back hair and a nose like a hornbill’s bill, sidled up to me. He was one of the six, obviously made in the USA.
‘Hi,’ I returned. ‘What do you recommend?’ I swept an arm over the display of nourishment.
‘The Kellogg’s Cornflakes,’ he said, and grinned.
‘Thanks.’
I took his advice, added a half grapefruit, a misshapen croissant, a pot of natural yoghourt, and a small bottle of Evian. Fairly healthy.
Wharfe finally looked up from his pancake as I returned to my table. I inclined my head at him and he did one of those on-off smiles before resuming the attack on his pancake. My enhanced features had made no impact on him. I was just another guest. In the limited time left to me I could monitor his daily routine openly. Just sitting in reception with my tablet reader before me would enable me to watch the team come and go. Even now I was weighing the advantages of shooting him in his room from outside (though he would need the light on and the drapes open) or as he left the hotel. Either option would probably mean doing it in darkness, and I thanked God for my prescience in requesting the infra-red adaptor.
I was the last to finish breakfast. By then, Wharfe’s party had dispersed, I knew not where. Prowling around the hotel later in the morning I came across the Ms Perkins leaving a room with KONFERENSISSI on the door. I translated that as Conference, so it was reasonable to suppose it was where the team held their meetings. Their field activities were of more interest to me, as killing Wharfe out there in the wilderness was by far my favourite option.
Overnight it had snowed seriously and several inches of the stuff covered the ground, though a plough had cleared the hotel parking lot and the road. It was still snowing, but the flakes were powdery and the sky was lightening. I reckoned it wouldn’t last.
The front desk guy confirmed it.
‘This afternoon will be sunny,’ he added, though the prospect didn’t make his expression any less cloudy.
The rifle and the Beretta were still in the Audi’s trunk. Safer there than in the room where a nosey chambermaid might get curious. It was brought home to me that keeping guns in the car might be a risk too many when, as I settled in the reception area with my iPad, an SUV which I recognised as a Mitsubishi Pajera, with POLIISI inscribed along its doors, drew up outside the entrance.
Two cops in forage caps and leather jackets left the car and swaggered into the hotel. Typical attitude, you see it the world over. Watch out, I represent the law, better not mess with me.
They did a sweep of the lobby. Eyes came to rest on me as the only living being in sight, aside from the front desk clerk. Eyes moved on, hopefully dismissing me as a harmless tourist
Surveillance over, the cops zeroed in on the front desk. A short spate of Finnish was fired at the clerk. He instantly glanced at me, which meant they had asked about me. The answer seemed to satisfy them. They strutted through the lobby and down the corridor that led to the conference room.
I feigned unconcern. Reality was, I suspected the police presence might be connected with the NATO exercise. Some sort of protection, courtesy of the Finnish government. I was horribly conscious of the weaponry in the Audi. Resolved to move it, maybe cache it in the woods.
The cops didn’t linger. I heard conversation in the corridor. The sound of a door closing, and the duo reappeared, treated me to another fleeting inspection and left.
The day trudged on. It sank in that I wasn’t going to be able to just sit here and read for hours on end, and certainly not two days in a row. Such a routine was bound to attract attention. People would begin to wonder why I was here, in this far-flung outpost of Finland, all on my ownsome, just to spend all day on my iPad. Being security-minded, the NATO crowd’s sensors would soon be beeping. The police wouldn’t be far behind them.
I stuck it out until lunch time, when Wharfe and his bunch came to the trough. My cue to take off. The sun was out, low in the sky, reflecting off the snow. Foregoing lunch for now, I togged up and went outside to stretch my legs, wearing sunglasses against the dazzling white. As I plodded up and down, my boots leaving big prints in the snow, Wharfe and co. came out, similarly dressed for an excursion. They piled into a metallic-black MPV, licence no. JZC991, reversed, and drove off. To the main street was only a hundred metres or so. I set off behind them on foot, not hurrying, needing only to see whether they turned left towards Ivalo at the junction, or right towards Russia.
They turned right. For now, it was enough knowledge. Ambushing Wharfe in the open was beginning to look like the way to go. I could lie in wait between Nellim and the border, take out a tyre. This would stop them, though it didn’t guarantee Wharfe would exit the vehicle.
I was tempted to do it this very afternoon, get it over with by catching them on their return ride. The big imponderable was the timing. It was already after one. In an hour and a half it would be dusk. With my infra-red attachment, hitting a tyre on a moving vehicle would be a breeze. Only Maura’s imminent presence stopped me. She would be en route for Ivalo by now, if not actually at the hotel. As soon as the job was done I would need to leave the area fast by my selected escape route, which didn’t include Ivalo. Maura’s own departure would likewise have to be organised, to ensure she remained uninvolved when the poliisi descended. If they were monitoring the NATO team, they would be on the scene while I was still on the open road, conspicuous and vulnerable as hell.
No killing today then. I got in my car and set off for Ivalo and, hopefully, to renew the acquaintance of my lost love.
* * * * *
In the parking lot of the Kultaihippu Hotel I discarded the glasses and the facial hair; pulled my furry hat down over my ears, and walked in. Heart thumping.
She was at a table in the hotel bar-restaurant, facing Rocky with her back to the door. Her chestnut hair hung loose a few inches below shoulder length, glossy and tousled. Her upper body was dressed in a tan turtle-neck sweater of some clinging material. Rocky would appreciate the frontal aspect, I could be sure of that. He spotted me, and leaned across the table to address Maura. Her head flipped around. As I advanced, she was out of her chair and running to meet me, and the hell with what other bar users thought. Our meeting was a body-to-body collision, followed by an embrace that was really a squeezing contest, then a kiss that stripped away the months apart. Our tongues fought for supremacy. When, eventually, we unstuck from each other I noticed for the first time that the bar was full of other people, most of whom were watching us instead of the giant TV screen.
I performed a little bow, and a number of glasses were raised in appreciation of our cameo.
Gripping Maura’s elbow possessively, I guided her between the tables, back to where Rocky sat behind a broad grin.
‘You like each other,’ he observed, as I unloaded my parka and took a seat.
‘You bet,’ I said, looking at Maura not at him.
‘Only a little,’ she said, looking at me not at him.
He guffawed. ‘She is a very good woman,’ he said, “good” being his synonym for “lovely”.
‘Too good to leave with you for long.’
‘He’s been a perfect gentleman,’ Maura said. A pause, a giggle, then, ‘Mostly.’
Rocky bellowed with laughter at my simulated glare.
‘Damn fucking right.’
Rocky summoned up a round of beers – two glasses for him – and we toasted each other.
‘Kippis,’ he said and swallowed half a glassful in a single gulp, leaving a moustache of froth on his upper lip.
‘Kippis,’ I said, and tasted it warily. It wasn’t bad.
‘Kippis?’ Maura queried, frowning down at hers and not tasting it at all.
‘It’s their version of cheers, I think,’ I said.
She studied me, brow wrinkling.
‘Nice hat, darling. Are you going to keep it on all night?’
‘It’s just a necessary prop. I’ll explain later.’
Rocky and I disposed of our beers; Maura sipped at hers. Unseen by Rocky, she nudged me, made an unspoken appeal with her eyes.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘We’re off to bed, Rocky.’
He was just starting on his second glass. ‘Okay, good. Sleep well.’
We bade him goodnight. He made a circle of finger and thumb, winking hugely, man to man.
In what had been my room, and was now ours too, we didn’t spend time getting reacquainted. She was out of her clingy sweater and equally clingy jeans while I was still fiddling with the buttons of my shirt.
‘You can leave your hat on,’ she said, grinning.
In the extreme heat of the moment I had forgotten all about it. I tossed it aside. She made no comment about my hair colour, just unhooked her bra and it let it fall to the floor, freeing her breasts – the breasts described by her, complainingly, as droopy, and by me as incredibly lascivious. The rest of her underwear joined the bra while I was still unzipping my pants. She lent a helping hand and at last we crashed naked, entwined, onto the bed.
The loving was fast and frenetic, with vocal accompaniment. It lasted only a few minutes, ending a famine that had lasted far too long. When it was over we lay in each other’s arms, still coupled, while our breathing and pulse rates returned to normal, too exhausted even to speak. Revelling in the connection of our bodies and the sense of one-ness.
Before long she was working on me again. I responded in kind, renewing my acquaintance with the taste and smell of her. Inevitably we made love again. A more measured, more relaxed loving, the sound effects muted. The climax when it came lasted longer, draining me in more than one sense.
With the physical side of our reunion suspended for the present, we lay side by side in the light of the bedside lamp and talked. About my hair colour, first. I explained. She got it. We moved on, swapping endearments for a while, then played catch up of our eight months apart, including questions from me and answers from her about Lindy, whom I had missed during our estrangement almost as much as I missed Maura herself.
‘Are you going to bring her back to me?’ I asked, even though I knew it was too soon for her to make any promises.
‘We’ll talk about it.’ She curled a forelock of my tinted hair around her finger, pulled my mouth onto hers. ‘Not yet –’ talking through our kiss ‘– maybe not even soon. But we will talk about it, darling, we’ll talk about everything, somehow we’ll make it work.’
Sure we would. When I had done killing Ivor Wharfe.
* * * * *
By 10.00pm I was driving back to Nellim along a road that if it hadn’t been flattened by traffic would have been a foot deep in snow. For the entire distance I was the only user. A mile short of the village I decelerated and let the Audi roll to a halt, frozen snow crunching under the nearside wheels as I moved off the cleared gravel surface.
It was a clear starry night, and as I put the finishing touches to my other identity, I got my first sighting of the Northern Lights. The Curtains, the most spectacular of the various formats, weaving gently like real curtains in a breeze. Vivid green, unearthly in their silence. I hopped out, sinking into calf-deep snow, and watched for ten minutes or so. It had the effect, as with all things outer-spatial, of making me feel insignificant. A small wind rustled the trees. A spooky shiver tiptoed up and down my spine.
Maura had given me a hard time over my leaving. When she saw it was useless to persist, she demanded I let her accompany me. Naturally, I rejected her wiles, potent though they were.
She had probed about the contract. Trying to learn more than I was willing to divulge.
‘You can’t be secretive with me,’ she fumed, after I had fobbed her off with yet another half-truth. ‘It’s not fair, and it means you don’t trust me.’
‘I trust you more than you can possibly imagine,’ I retorted, and at once her features softened, losing some of the pent-up anger etched there. ‘It’s not that. I don’t want you corrupted by the kind of nastiness I’m involved in. If you know about it, and you do nothing, you condone it. That would go against your principles –’
‘God-damn my principles!’ she blazed, pounding my chest. ‘I want to share whatever you do, the bad as well as the good. If possible, I want to be there beside you, experiencing the dangers first-hand.’
‘You can’t. You’re a mother.’
In days gone by, she might have stamped her feet. Instead she settled for venting her distaste for my new hair colour, temporary expedient though it was.
‘It makes you look quite ordinary,’ was her parting barb.
Ordinary is good in my profession, so I was glad to hear it.
The cold was severe, numbing my cheeks and forehead, not to mention my feet. I was glad to have seen the Northern Lights; I was even gladder to regain the warmth of the Audi and drive on to the hotel.
* * * * *
26th November dawned without dawn. I was up at eight, entering the breakfast room at half past. Wharfe and his associates were ahead of me, munching and conversing, plus a handful of other non-combatants. The NATO team took more notice of me than yesterday. Occasional covert glances, lowered tones, until finally they sent a scout to quiz me.
He sauntered over, a friendly look hoisted on his face. A member of the Finnish contingent to go by his high cheekbones and vaguely Asiatic features. Therefore, of Supo, the Finnish security service.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I am Stefan.’
‘Hi, I’m Mark.’ I said back, my tone neutral, my mien composed. I was a good actor.
He stuck out a hand for me to shake. It was as stiff as a wood carving.
‘English?’
I blotted my lips with a paper napkin. ‘You guessed.’
He gave a small nod, as if it confirmed his expectations. Maybe he had a bet on with his colleagues.
‘On vacation?’
‘Not really.’ I didn’t expand. A gushed explanation can be more suspicious than reticence.
‘Visiting relatives?’
He was persistent. He wasn’t going to go away until his probe was complete.
‘I’m here to research the area.’ I expelled a theatrical sigh, reached for my wallet and dealt him a business card.
‘Eurotravel Publications,’ he read aloud. ‘Travel books, eh?’
‘That’s right. What about you? Are you on vacation, or visiting relatives, or doing some research?’
It wasn’t smart to needle him, but being human with my share of frailties I’m not always as smart as I should be. It was none of his business what I was doing here, in the middle of nowhere. Then again maybe it was. Who could say where the writ of the Supo ran?
Stefan was Mr Friendly no more. A terse dip of the head and away he went with my card to report back to the team.
Nineteen
Of the three possible venues of execution – in Wharfe’s room, in the hotel parking lot, or on the road – I had settled for a roadside ambush as offering the best opportunity for my escape. Shoot a tyre, bring the vehicle to a halt. It was highly likely the occupants would all dismount to view the damage. I would hit Wharfe the moment he appeared. I would then loose off a few more rounds rapid fire, aiming high to keep everyone’s head down. They would be sure to take cover and I reckoned on having ten seconds or more before any return fire. In that time I could travel twenty to thirty metres on foot, putting me outside effective range of their handguns.
To reach the Audi, in the dark, trying to move soundlessly, would take another five minutes. I had already paced it out. Before they could change the wheel and regroup I would be away. They might summon the police, but it was unlikely their patrolling vehicle would be close at hand.
It was fundamental to the success of my plan that they headed for the Russian border again. But when I descended for breakfast at the ungodly hour of 7.55am the only trace of their six presences was the debris from their meals. A glance through the window confirmed, by the absence of their MPV, that they had already departed.
It was a sound enough plan. I expected it to work.
Hanging about the hotel for a second day would be to push my luck. The Finnish contingent might even take it upon themselves to search my car. I took a gamble – that their drive towards the border was part of a daily routine, and they would set out at about the same time as yesterday. I would leave ahead of them. It was going to mean spending an hour or more squatting by the roadside, waiting for them to drive by. A small discomfort that I could live with.
So much for my badly-laid plans. Since I couldn’t cover the road in both directions, I would have to gamble that they were heading for the border again. If it turned out differently, I was royally screwed. This was Wharfe’s last day in Finland. Come tomorrow morning, he would be London-bound and beyond my reach.
By mid-day I was setting up a base about ten metres from the side of the road, behind some shrubbery. The ground inclined downwards to the road, which was useful as it would give me a clear field of fire and allow me to use the bipod. My kit included snow shoes, a ground sheet, and a shovel. For sustenance, I had a flask of brandy, some energy bars, an apple, and a two-litre bottle of some local mineral water branded Polar Spring. The Audi was tucked away, beside a trail that cut through woodland, far enough away from the road to be out of sight.
