Dark Market

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Four

Savage crept between the pillars of the shadowy Oculus. A 270 degree movie room in what had been the old treasury. The search lights over St Paul's during the Nazi’s blitz on London swung back and forth against the cinematic night sky projected on the far wall. The mood music disguised his footsteps, but also those of anyone else.

He cleared the room, then the warmth coming from the stone crypt beyond hit him. Centrally heated for the old folk that took their time getting around. Sweat formed on his back, his heartbeat ticked a staccato in his throat.

The crypt was the exact footprint of the cathedral floor above. He needed to move quickly. The kidnapper – the assassin – wouldn't want to hang around with the noise coming from upstairs.

He cleared the memorial to the man who built the cathedral, Christopher Wren and then tip toed past the tomb of the illustrious Duke of Wellington before feeling the cold on-rush of air from the room ahead. The mosaic tiles caught his eye, reminders of the Middle East, then drew them to the seven vaulted arches in white marble that housed Nelson's tomb. That most powerful of Britain's warriors.

Kevorkian stood in front of the golden orb beneath the central arch of the tomb. A dark shadow on his scalp where he'd let the hair grow back. Tourist clothes lay on the floor, the ARV uniform disguise he’d worn underneath now on display.

Clever, Savage thought, that's exactly how I'd escape.

When Savage entered the room Kevorkian grinned as if an old friend had just walked in.

'And I thought Viktor’s chrome-dome was male pattern baldness,' Savage said.

Kevorkian’s eyes shone. His MP5 pointed at the chancellor's head – the politician kneeled in front of the altar, hands cuffed behind his back, face a mask of terror.

Kevorkian pointed the handgun in his other hand at Savage.

'And you, the big investigator.' His accent had given way to something adrift in mid-Atlantic like Savage’s own. 'Always check the hair line John. You know the drill.'

Savage walked softly towards him.

'Ah-ah. Stay there,' Kevorkian said.

'You'll be asking me to put my gun down next.'

'That's exactly what you'll do.' He pushed the MP5 into the chancellor’s face and then twisted the barrel into his mouth. ‘See what happens if you don’t? Drop it.’

'I would. But you know, super-glue. Fingers. Gets everywhere. So how's the assassin game?'

'Good. Very good, in fact.'

'Everything going to plan then?'

'Stop baiting me John.'

'Only you had to go back for Jessica's body last time, didn't you? Bit of a cock up, was it?'

The big man laughed, then relaxed. Shop talk.

'It was,' he said, ‘but not mine. They neglected the files and physical proof. I cleaned up. I always go the extra mile for my clients. And I couldn't have done it without you John, you make a good sub-contractor.'

'I'm flattered.'

'Want your cut?'

'No thanks.'

'Get real. You're a killer like me. Make some decent money for a change. Re-invest and we all win.'

'Apart from him.' He gestured his gun toward the kneeling man.

Kevorkian scrunched his face up. 'Well, fuck, yeah John. Apart from him. This is what you've been groomed for, you know?'