Chapter 6

"Saladin." Gawain sat on the side of his bed, shaking his shoulders. "It's time to wake up, Saladin. We need you."

He moaned as she shook him, muttering something in Arabic. His hands clutched the sheets, scrunching them up and holding them close to his chest.

"Please."

His eyes fluttered open, sweat forming on his forehead. He breathed heavily for a few moments, before his eyes focused on Gawain and the tensed muscles in his shoulders relaxed. "W-where am I?"

"You're in Amsterdam, with Kingsman. You're safe, Saladin, but right now we need to know what happened."

"They killed each other."

Gawain paused, glancing over to Oberon at the door, then back at Saladin. "Killed each other? As in they started shooting each other?"

"It was like V-day."

"Shit," she muttered under her breath. "How did you escape?"

"I just ran. I don't know why the signal didn't affect me, but I didn't really care. I left them to die."

"It was the smart thing to do." She stood up. "We tried to contact the other teams. No reply at all."

"That's because they're all dead." Saladin was staring at his feet. "I'm going to guess you know who they are."

"Cabal," Gawain said. "Same group we foiled last year. A few hours ago we even captured one of them."

His eyes widened. "Can I see her?"

"She won't talk to anyone about anything until we've killed the Prime Minister of Singapore. Apparently she's Cabal, too, and our guest is going to rattle off their names one-by-one, because revenge."

"You trust her?"

"Hell no. Singapore are still debating whether to kill the PM or not. But I think Oberon's given them a reason to."

He stepped up. "She donates a massive amount of funds to a charity every year. More than they can use. She's funding them."

"Then take her out already."

"That's Singapore's call."

Saladin nodded. "They'll do it. I know their leader. I want to try talk to your prisoner, see if I can get anything out of her."

"Pellinore's coming here tomorrow. I think you should get some rest instead." Her watch beeped, a message from Caradoc popping up on the screen. "Sorry, I have to go." She walked past Oberon and out of the room, to where Caradoc was.

"Let's go see Harker," Caradoc said.

"He's harmless where he is."

"So was Marcel, and then he disappears right after the attack. One thing I don't understand is why they didn't go for Harker first. He's a supplier, Marcel's a footsoldier. I'd think Harker is more useful."

"Maybe they need more troops."

"Harker can get them troops as well. You remember his guys, right? They're not as good as Marcel's ex-Legionnaires but they get the job done."

"To be honest, I don't know what to think anymore. And Saladin…" She glanced back at the open bedroom door. "Saladin said that his team killed each other. Same for the rest of the middle Eastern board. It's got to be the signal."

"Then it's a good thing we all got chips."

"Where's Harker being held again?"

"Bijlmerbajes. The one near Amstel station. You wanna leave now or do you want to talk to Jonas first?"

"Yeah, good idea. I missed him earlier when he was talking to Holly. Seen him?"

"Upstairs. He just got out of bed."

"I'll go see him. Get the car ready - this won't be long." She took the stairs two at a time out of the basement, and into the darkened living room. She swiftly climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor of their home, and knocked on the last door in the right side of the corridor. "Jonas!"

It opened a crack, Jonas' eye appearing. "Yeah?"

"We're going to see Harker. Wanna come?"

He made a face. "Ugh, no. I told you I don't ever want to speak to that ass ever again. I'm just glad he's behind bars."

"I just thought we could use your insight."

"Just because I hired him a few times does not mean I have 'insight', Val. Harker's extremely predictable anyway - show him some money and he'll dance for you."

"...if you really think so, that's fine. Get some rest."

Jonas quietly closed the door, and Gawain heard the click of a bolt being pushed into place.

She ran back downstairs, twisting the front doorknob as she ran into it and out into the colder night air.

Caradoc's Mercedes was in the driveway, its headlights casting two bright circles on the garage door. The hum of the engine got louder as she opened the passenger door and climbed in beside Caradoc.

"You're right," she said. "He's hiding something."

"And not doing a very good job at it. Did you get a peek inside his room? It's like a teenage boy's."

"What, rock band posters?"

"No, it's messy and everything is everywhere."

"No, he only opened the door a crack. And Dirk, even we're kids inside. You wanted to go to an arcade last week."

"I was drunk."

"We're all kids inside." She smiled. "Let's go."

Garth was waiting by his dark grey van in the underground parking lot when the elevator opened and Tahal stepped out. He had a thin white cigarette in his fingers, and he removed it from his mouth, blowing smoke.

Tahal frowned. "Put it away; it's not good for you."

"I know that." He took another draw.

"Then put it away. you'll kill yourself faster than Kingsman can." Tahal looked over at the car. "The body in there?"

"You know it." Garth tossed the cigarette away onto the grey concrete floor, and threw the back doors open.

Tahal pressed the heel of his expensive designer shoe down on the lit end of the match, and crushed it to the ground.

Garth removed a heavy body bag from inside the van, and set it on the hard ground. "He was floating for hours before we found him, so it might be a little disturbing. The smell isn't much better."

"I'm okay. Open it up."

He pulled the zip down to chest height, and spread the bag open.

Tahal felt his gag reflex automatically engage as the smell hit him, a vile mixture of preservatives and rotting flesh. He covered his mouth with one hand, taking a step back.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

Tahal shook his head, and stepped back up, looking down at Marcel's mangled body. As Garth had warned him, the skin on Marcel's face was more...fluid than usual, some parts beginning to slough off his skull. A purple bruise stretched across his neck, which was twisted at an awkward angle.

"Not so pretty, isn't he?" Garth slipped on a pair of latex gloves and handed an identical set to Tahal.

He pulled them on, holding his breath when his hands were away from his face. "Turn him over."

"What, the whole body?"

"Just the head. Check if his chip's still in there."

Garth put his gloved hands around Marcel's lifeless head and turned it over. The scar was larger than Tahal remembered.

"They must have removed it when he was in prison," Garth said, leaning in to inspect. "It's been cut open and stitched back together."

"So we've no audio feed?"

"None at all, unless we get that chip. Should I do that?"

"Go get it. I want to know who did this, ASAP. I'll book you a ticket back to France."

"And I was really liking being back in Amsterdam."

"Do as you're told, Garth. Get me that chip and we'll talk about your reputation again."

Garh rolled his eyes, and zipped the body bag back up. "What're you gonna do about him? Scatter?"

"My men will take care of it," Tahal said, glancing at the armed men waiting by the elevator and waving them over. "You do your job and i'll do mine."

Garth tore off his latex gloves and tossed them onto the floor. "Goodnight, Tahal."

"As to you, Mr. Hendricksen."

Gawain stepped out of the car and looked up at the six towers of the Bijlmerbajes, surrounded by their tall wire mesh fences and silhouettes of heavily armed security. "Which one is he in?"

"Demersluis," Caradoc said, pointing at one of the towers. "He used to be in Het Schouw, but he tried to start a revolution and they relocated him. That was six months ago."

"Once a jackass, always a jackass." Gawain strode up to the dimly-lit guardhouse, where a bespectacled guard was writing on a notepad.

"Closing hours are long over, miss," he said without looking at her.

She removed her ID holder form inside her jacket and flipped it open in front of him. "KLPD. We need to see a prisoner."

He whipped off his glasses, and peered at the ID, before nodding. "Go right through, ma'm. Show that to the front desk."

"Thank you." Gawain pocketed the ID, as the gate rattled open. Beyond it, in the darkness, was the main reception building. She began taking steps towards it, whistling as the breeze brushed through her hair.

The guard at the double doors opened one for her, and she walked straight through into the lobby with its red floor and bright lights.

A woman was on the phone behind the reception desk, talking quietly and occasionally giggling.

Caradoc entered seconds after she did, going straight to the woman and holding his ID in front of her.

She said something low and quick into the phone before putting it back in the cradle. "Ah, what can I do for you, agent...Beumers?"

"I'd like to see a prisoner of yours."

"I'm afraid visiting hours are over."

"This prisoner might have crucial information regarding a terrorist attack that's going to happen very soon, ma'am. I suggest you cooperate."

She looked unsure. "...very well then, agent Beumers. Who are you seeing?"

"Desmond Harker. Last I heard he's in Demersluis."

"Give me a moment." The woman tapped the keys on her mechanical keyboard, each stroke making a distinct sound. "Ah, I'm afraid Mr. Harker is no longer here."

Gawain blinked. "What?"

"He left four months ago."

"How did he leave? He's still on trial."

"Let's see...the prosecutor dropped all charges, ma'am. It was due to a lack of evidence."

Gawain shook her head. "Did he leave alone, or did anyone come to pick him up?"

"I was in the bathroom then, I think. I'm sorry the two of you had to come all the way here for nothing."

Caradoc nodded. "It's fine. Can you...can you show us security tapes on that day? If you have them."

She tapped at a few more keys and raised an eyebrow. "You're in luck! We still have the tape. Do you mind coming behind the counter?"

They rounded the end of the metal counter and stood on either side of the receptionist. The screen on her computer was displaying a black-and-white footage of the lobby they were in, with Harker standing near the edge.

"He's talking to someone," Gawain muttered. "Skip to when they leave."

The receptionist tapped an arrow key a few times, causing the video to jump several seconds, to where Harker was turning around.

A suited man with what appeared to be a flower on his left lapel followed him, hands clasped behind his back.

Gawain hit a button on the keyboard to pause the video. "Who's he? Harker's lawyer?"

"Dunno," the receptionist said.

"You," Caradoc said.

"What?"

"Val, he's here."

Gawain looked up at the doors she had come through to find a man wearing a cream-coloured suit with a poppy flower pinned to his pocket. He had stiff, gelled brown hair and a wide grin on his face.

"Are you looking for Mr. Harker?" he asked.

Gawain said nothing.

"I'm Jim Sarcos, nice to meet you."