Killing for the Company

The old lady looked offended, but she led them back along the landing towards the first door they’d passed. This room was much more basic than the other. Frayed curtains, a lumpy, iron-framed double bed. Next to the bed was an occasional table with a beige, functional telephone on it. The adjoining bathroom had mildewed grout between the tiles and an avocado-coloured suite stained white with limescale.

Chet checked the window. The frame was thin and rotten, but it was locked and it looked out on to the front where he’d parked. There was no attic hatch.

‘This will do,’ he said.

‘I can’t give you anything to eat, you know,’ the old woman announced. It sounded like an accusation. ‘And there’s nowhere nearby.’

‘Please, don’t worry,’ Suze told her. She clearly had a way with the oldies. ‘We’re glad for the room. You’re very kind to…’

‘Is there a key?’ Chet interrupted.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘ A key? ’

The old woman looked at him as if he’d made a lewd suggestion. ‘Oh no… no, there’s no key.’

She shook her head and left the couple, muttering to herself and leaving the door ajar. Chet closed the door, then stood with his back against it. He gave Suze a piercing look — one that she couldn’t withstand for long. She sat on the edge of the bed and put her head in her hands.

‘Are you sure we’re safe here?’

He walked over, grabbed a high-backed chair that was against the wall and lodged it under the door handle. ‘As safe as we can be. But if that woman who’s chasing us is the person I think she is, we won’t stay safe for long.’

‘Who do you think she is?’

But Chet didn’t answer.

She looked up at him again. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For helping me.’

Chet shrugged. Suddenly his leg was very sore, and as he stepped into the room his limp was more pronounced than usual.

‘Your leg?’

He frowned. Then, after a moment, he pulled his trouser leg up a few inches to reveal the sturdy black shin of his artificial leg. Suze’s eyes widened but, he noticed, she didn’t look appalled. ‘I didn’t realise…’ she said. ‘How did it happen?’

‘I had a little disagreement with a man called Ivanovic. It was some time ago.’

‘That looks like more than a disagreement.’

‘He wanted to kill me. I didn’t want him to.’

‘Were you in the military?’ Suze asked.

‘You could say that.’

A pause.

‘Does it… does it hurt?’

Chet didn’t want to discuss his disability. There were more urgent topics. ‘Tell me, why were you eavesdropping on that meeting?’

Suze bit her lip and looked as though she was gathering her thoughts. ‘It’s the Grosvenor Group,’ she said at last.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t you know who they are?’

Chet walked over to the window and looked out. The rain was still sheeting. It hammered against the window. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Dickheads in suits?’

‘You work for them?’

‘I’m a freelance security consultant. They pay me to debug rooms, that’s all. It’s not like I’m sitting round the board table.’

‘Of course not. You’re not the kind of person they want.’ She took a few deep breaths and looked around nervously. ‘They can’t find us here, can they?’

Chet shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

Suze closed her eyes briefly and carried on talking — slowly and in fragments, as though she was unsure of herself. ‘The Grosvenor Group… it’s an American… a multinational… a kind of.. ’ A look of frustration crossed her face as she searched for the right word. ‘… A conglomeration of venture capitalists. They invest money in other, smaller companies… sometimes they buy them out totally…’ She gave an apologetic little smile. ‘I don’t really understand how all that stuff works.’

Nor did Chet. As far as he could tell, the Grosvenor Group was a bunch of money men. In his book, that meant arseholes.

Another crash of thunder, and the rain gave a renewed burst against the windowpanes. Suze stood up and started pacing the room. Suddenly her green eyes were flashing. ‘The Grosvenor Group mostly puts its money into military enterprises — arms companies, aerospace, that kind of thing.’ She stopped pacing. ‘Basically, they invest in people killing other people.’

Yeah, Chet thought. Welcome to the world.

‘The Grosvenor Group makes a lot of money,’ Suze continued. ‘I mean, like, a lot of money. Billions. You don’t make that kind of cash without influence. Their board is like a… a Who’s Who of Western politics. Former American senators, people with influence in Washington and Whitehall, politicians who might one day return to office. They’ve even got former US presidents advising them.’

Chet shook his head. ‘So some politicians are involved in the arms trade. That doesn’t explain why somebody’s trying to kill us.’

Suddenly she turned. ‘For God’s sake,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t you see? If the US and the UK go to war in Iraq, it’ll be like all the Grosvenor Group’s Christmases have come at once. Arms concessions, reconstruction deals.’

‘People have always made money out of war, Suze.’