The Purple Contract (15 page)

Hollis knew from Gojo's anecdotes, not to mention wincingly accurate mimicry, that this was Mrs Danter. Firebrand with a heart of butter, who still laid a place for her husband at the dinner table although he had been dead more than ten years.

'Do you know when he'll be back?' It wasn't likely that Gojo would keep Mrs Danter appraised of his movements, but it was worth a try.

'Not for a while,' she came across to stand facing him. 'What do you want him for?'

'We've been friends a long time. I usually look him up when I'm in town, and we have a few beers.'

'You an American?’ She remembered Gojo mentioning an American once or twice in passing.

'Not really.'

'Well, if you’re a friend of his, you'd better know then. He won't be back for quite some time, I'm afraid.'

'Why not?' This wasn't good.

'Because he was attacked in the street the night before last by two young thugs. They gave him quite a going over,' she glared at Hollis as if it were his fault. 'He's in the hospital!'

 
 
 
 
9

 
7 – 9 July, 2013

'It's a pretty tenuous pattern, if it exists at all.' Frank Wedderman threw the pencil down in disgust. He had been pinning his hopes on getting a positive lead from the list of previous targets supplied by Greenside of SIS. Did their man specialize in politicians?

It was much more likely of course that there
was
no set pattern for them to find. A professional killer would surely just accept the jobs he considered an acceptable risk and refuse the others. Presumably money would have to be a factor in making the decision, and that would depend on what the principal was prepared to offer. So did that mean higher fees were available on the world market for killing politicians? Now
there
was surely a fascinating point of view. But the days were passing and they were really no further forward.

It was disturbing.

'Two politicians out of eight deaths. It's not much of a link,' confirmed Chief Inspector Durrant.

The eight names on the CIA document ranged from a Swiss bank manager to the despotic leader of the German Neo-Nazi movement. It was true that a French communist politician was also listed as having been killed in mysterious circumstances some years past, but two swallows had only a slim connection with summer.

'No. Well, it was worth a try.'

The usual morning meeting had developed into a marathon. The two men had agreed they would work through this minefield until they came up with an acceptable and workable plan of action. Both of them shared the same concern that they were simply not getting a handle on this one at all. It was difficult to take it seriously. It was almost ludicrous for two senior police officers to be doing this sort of thing.

'The target just has to be on here,' Chief Inspector Durrant waved the A4 sheet of yellow paper for emphasis. 'One of these people is in imminent danger of losing his life. It's time we started doing something about that.' Neither of them had thought to comment on the fact that all the tentative candidates were male.

Both men looked up at the tap on the door. An appallingly young-looking officer handed Durrant an official message form with
Urgent
visible on the top right hand corner. ‘Thank you.’ Durrant read while he listened.

'I fully agree, sir, but there are still four names to choose from and they all appear to be equally at risk.' Wedderman stepped across the deep pile carpet to the white scheduling board on the wall and began to write on it with a dry-wipe marker pen.

Korak Mintushi

He turned round and expanded: 'Japanese rock singer. Possible revenge attack for deaths in the Tokyo subway nerve gas attack.'

S
enator Villeken

'Thoroughly disliked by just about everyone from Mickey Mouse upwards.’

Igor Norevny

'Ostensibly just another Russian businessman looking for export trade with the West. However, it's a well known fact that he made his millions in the early Yeltsin days, when organised crime practically took over the whole damned country. Nowadays he's more or less legit, likes to think of himself as an international entrepreneur but he still travels everywhere with a rake of bodyguards. Bound to be a price on his head at home, don't know about abroad.'

Durrant shook his head in disgust. 'Another damned terrorist in a silk suit.'

'He's got a damned cheek, that's for sure. But I think he's an outside chance for our purposes.' Wedderman put the felt pen back on the clip and turned to face his superior. 'The other two, though. I feel we have to take them equally seriously. Either of them––'

'Three'

'What?' Wedderman stopped, confused.

Durrant held up the message form he had just received. 'I'm afraid there's another complication,' he sighed. As if things weren't bad enough already. He handed the slip across to Wedderman. 'I think you'll agree we simply have to put him on the list.'

'Oh Christ!' Wedderman swore. The unwanted complications of what he was reading hitting him all at once. He looked up and met his boss's eyes, his face serious. 'This could be the one, Bill,' he waved the paper in the air. 'He made a lot of enemies while he was Prime Minister. And he’s never been forgiven for the Gulf War debacle!'

'My thoughts exactly. At best it's a hell of a coincidence. But like it or not, Tony Blair will be opening the new Chamber of Commerce in Aberdeen on the twenty-fourth of August.'

By mid morning the sun was shining from an almost totally clear blue sky. Mike Hollis was glad to pull the Range Rover up the ramp into the shade offered by the multi-storey car park above the shopping centre. He had no difficulty finding a space on the second tier, the car-park was barely half full at this time of day. As he walked away from the car, the double
beep
confirming the alarm was active echoed from the bare concrete walls.

The elevators were as disreputable as Hollis remembered them from previous visits, although both were, unbelievably, working on this occasion. On the ground floor, he took the main door out onto the world-famous Sauchiehall Street. Jokes are legion: such as the story claimed by many to be true, that a policeman, about to arrest some unfortunate for being drunk and disorderly, dragged him round the corner into Hope Street because it was easier to spell in his report.

A few minutes walk along the already crowded street brought him to a sports and outdoor shop. Among the hiking boots, ski equipment and multi-coloured all weather clothing was a rotating display rack containing Ordnance Survey maps. Hollis flipped through them until he found Landranger Sheets 5 and 6, covering the Orkney Islands. He paid for them at the counter and returned to the car the way he had come.

Glasgow's Royal Infirmary is situated immediately adjacent to the ancient Cathedral in what is the oldest part of the city. At one time the hamlet that became Glasgow was little more than a fording point on the river Clyde, a loose clutter of wooden houses gathering through the decades on a major trade route stretching up the west coast. Many centuries later the original Infirmary was built around 1792. Erected on a site which previously had been occupied for hundreds of years by the Bishop’s Castle.

Over a hundred years old and feeling its age, it was completely rebuilt between 1907 and 1914. The resulting structure being the largest public building in the UK at that time.

Downhill a few hundred metres, and on the opposite side of High Street, lies Provands Lordship, the oldest house in the city and in all probability the oldest domestic building still standing anywhere in Scotland. It is a dauntingly impressive structure dating from 1471.

Waiting at yet another set of traffic lights, Hollis watched a party of Japanese tourists emerging from the building’s low doorway in an enthusiastic gaggle and wondered what the original occupants would have thought of the plastic and concrete jungle that had grown from their quiet rural village alongside the river.

Having phoned earlier to inquire, Hollis had timed his arrival for the commencement of afternoon visiting. He walked into the elderly hospital at five past the hour in the midst of a group of other visitors and rode the elevator to the third floor. 'Mr MacRae?' he asked of an exceedingly pretty Staff Nurse. It had been so long since he had spoken Gojo's proper name that it sounded odd, unreal, especially in this depressing place.

'Mr MacRae? Oh, yes, second last bed on the right,' the engagement ring on her finger glittered as she pointed. It looked very new. Hollis nodded his thanks.

The ghostly pale figure lay with his eyes closed and looked to be asleep, a dressing covered with gauze obscuring most of the left side of his face where the cheekbone had been fractured. His left arm, lying alongside his torso but on the outside of the covers, was encased in the lightweight resinous substitute for old fashioned plaster. Other abrasions were also visible on the face and hands.

‘Jesus.’ Hollis muttered to himself.

After a few seconds the limp figure became aware that the approaching footsteps had stopped at the foot of his bed and he opened his eyes, blinking in the bright sunlight flooding the ward.

For the rest of his life Mike Hollis would remember the expression that crossed the battered face when Gojo recognised him. He was appalled to see moisture gathering in the corner of one eye above the spare and discoloured cheekbone. In a flash of understanding he understood that there was likely to be no-one who cared enough about Gojo to come here. Few probably to even know where he was or wonder why he hadn't been around his usual haunts of late.

To a man like Mike Hollis, a loner by profession as well as nature, friendship was something to be valued above most of life's experiences. It was at that moment, standing awkwardly in a bare Victorian hospital ward with Spring sunshine casting shadows into the corners, that it occurred to him that Gojo and Dave Jordan were the only two close friends he had in the world.

It was a stark acknowledgment of his life, and one that cracked his supposedly impregnable veneer more than he would ever admit.

'Mike!' The voice was muffled but clear, speaking through puffed and split lips. 'How did ye know––?'

Hollis pulled a chair across from the unoccupied bed at the end of the row and sat, resting his forearms on Gojo's starched covers. There were things to be said that had better be discussed quietly. 'I had to come down yesterday for a few things. There was no answer when I phoned last night and again this morning. So I thought I'd better call at the flat, maybe your phone was out of order or something. Mrs Danter told me you were here.'

Gojo tried to nod and winced. 'Christ, man, I'm glad to see you. I thought those bastards were goin' to kill me,' he swallowed painfully. 'Nearly did, too, I think.'

Hollis watched him shifting uncomfortably, trying in vain to find a position that didn't hurt. 'What happened?'

Gojo gave up trying to ease the discomfort: he ached all over, the broken arm in particular. 'I was goin' down to the shop for somethin'––milk, that's right. When I came out on to the pavement, there were two guys stripping my bike. Right outside the hoose, f'r fuck's sake!' He swallowed again and coughed. Hollis filled the plastic tumbler with water from the jug sitting on top of the tiny locker beside the bed and held it while Gojo drank.

'Thanks.'

'So you had a go at them, did you?'

'Yeah. Should have known better, I suppose, fightin's never been my strong point.' The battered mouth twisted in a semblance of a smile. 'I thought they'd just run for it, you know try again somewhere else.' He shook his head slowly. 'Not these bastards. One of them pulled out what looked like an old fashioned police truncheon. You know, the ones they used to use before these extendable things were issued?'

Hollis nodded.

'The sod broke my arm with it, straight off. Bloody hell, the pain! I've never felt anything like it!' Sweat stood out on his forehead at the memory. 'Couldn't do anything after, that anyway and they just got stuck in. 'I must have passed out pretty quick because I don't remember much more. Don't even know how I got here.'

Hollis recalled that Gojo's Yamaha had looked semi-dismantled, as if he was busy working on it, right enough. Nothing unusual in that and it had aroused no curiosity at the time.

'Do you know them?'

'Aye, one of them.' Gojo closed his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to picture the faces of his attackers. 'Irish bastard called Moloney, Conway Moloney. He’s an evil sod. We went to the same school, although he's a year or two older than me.' He winced with the pain of moving his bruised jaws. 'He was a thug then and he's worse now.'

'Was he the one with the nightstick?'

'What?'

'The baton.’

'No. The other one. Never seen him before, but he was a big bastard. Crew cut, black leather jacket. I remember the big grin on his bloody face. He was enjoying himself,’ he ended bitterly.

Hollis thought about that for a while. Gojo closed his eyes again and rested his head on the pillow.

'Do you know where this Moloney guy lives?'

'No, no idea.'

Where would you go if you wanted cheap motorbike parts?'

Gojo slowly opened his eyes again and stared up at the ceiling. 'Blind Jimmy's, I suppose.' The eyes came down again and levelled at Mike Hollis. 'But he's no intae this sort of thing, Mike. The bugger would take your last penny, but he wouldnae hurt anyone.'

'Maybe not, but he has to get his stuff somewhere. And I doubt if he asks too many questions about where it came from.' Silence fell for a few seconds, each man occupied with his own thoughts.

'What did you come down for, Mike?' queried Gojo, meaning why had he made one of his rare visits to Glasgow.

Hollis was silent for a moment. 'I want some metalwork done, Gojo––in a hurry. I need someone reliable who can make up a piece of kit to a tight specification, but without an actual drawing. Someone who'll forget about it afterwards.'

Gojo paused while familiar thoughts flitted through his head. He knew better than to ask questions to which there wouldn't be any answers. If his friend was working again then it was better not to know too much anyway. Gojo's conscience troubled him from time to time over the things he knew about Mike Hollis, and even more about the things he didn't.