Don't... 04 Backlash (49 page)

“What did you
hear?”

Martin’s gaze
ran over the garage and he settled on a top window. “I need to be
up there to find out.” He sniffed. “And I’d really like these cuffs
off now because there’s someone else up there already.”

Gray had caught
the shift of shadow by the window too. It wouldn’t be surprising;
the garage was open and working, probably with some of the
mechanics on their dinner hour. That meant the owner would be up on
the second floor, no doubt taking time out. Only the shadow
lingered by the window, one hand resting on the frame, bringing its
own... provocation.

Gray looked at
Martin, then got out and went around to his side of the car.
Keeping watch on the window on the second floor, Gray held the door
open and tugged Martin out. Cuffs came off next after he made
Martin face the car, and the memory was there, of Jack... of Jack
gaining permission from the MC to go back to sub duty after his
slight concussion, before all of the rape and torture. In the
darkness of the car park, Jack had eased against the Merc, hands
behind head, legs apart, full and silent submission there in
the...

Gray pushed
away from Martin, pulling him over the road, towards the garage.
Martin didn’t need much leading, and after a moment, he tugged away
from Gray’s grip on his arm and made his way in.

A woman in her
fifties, wearing green coveralls, was handing over a set of keys to
a customer as they entered reception. Gray waited for the man to
leave, then took out his MI5 identification. “Would it be possible
to speak to the manager?”

She leaned a
little closer, eyes narrowing over the counter. “Speaking. What can
I do for you gents?”

“I’d like to
gain access to a room on your upper floor. Would that be
possible?”

“Sure.” She
glanced back into her workshop, where her technicians worked. His
rank or position wasn’t given, and that only added to the worry.
“Can I ask why?”

“Observation of
an external building, nothing more.” He didn’t need her worrying,
or dragging technicians out onto the street. “Is the room above
here empty?”

She glanced up.
“It’s an extra storeroom for parts.”

“Excellent.
Thank you. Are all technicians downstairs?”

“Some are out
back, having dinner.”

“No staff up
there?”

“Not in the
past hour, no. It’s just a small business. I’m all I need.”

“And you’ve had
no one else up there? No deliveries?”

“None.” She
glanced at Martin, who stared back at her. Her gaze didn’t stay on
his long, although it did shift back once or twice, each glance
never looking quite as easy as the last.

“Okay.” He put
his ID away. “We’ll be about an hour. I’ll let you know if we need
longer. But can you make sure we’re not disturbed? No one is to
come upstairs unless they carry official ID.”

“I’ll take my
break in the back room.” She pointed to a door. “I’ll be through
there if you need me. Can you let me know when you’re done?”

“Of course,”
said Gray, moving over to a door that would no doubt lead to the
stairs. He went through first, making sure it was shut behind
Martin before withdrawing his sidearm. He’d have to put Martin
behind him, but as grey eyes were focused on what was upstairs, it
was the lesser risk at the moment.

He took the
stairs, then eased open the first door he came to. A quick check
found a bathroom, the manager’s bag left on the floor under the
basin. No window was open. A quick check saw Martin lean against
the wall and bite at a nail.

“Hate to point
out the obvious, Welsh, but they’re not gonna kill anyone until
they get their info.” He went to head into the room closest to him,
but Gray stopped him with a shake of head.

He checked the
next door, the manager’s office, and found that hosting a party to
no one but ghosts. The window there was locked too. A glance up saw
an access point to the roof, but the ladder was up, a layer of dust
to the rungs saying it hadn’t been used in a while. A fire exit lay
ahead, but the bolt across it hadn’t been disturbed either. Yes, it
was obvious a move wouldn’t be made until any intel was given, but
he liked to narrow the field down and gauge just how many people he
was up against and what their access points would be.

At the moment,
that just left the room Martin had entered.

Martin was
already there, but he’d paused, now running his hand over the
handle. He snorted a smile. “Warm for such a cold September day.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Recent. Five minutes. Whoever was in
there closed the door behind them when they left.”

Which meant
keeping a close watch by the door for anyone who had the mind to
want to gain access again. Gray didn’t take any chances with the
room being empty; the door was pushed open and a few glances to
check the immediate line of sight had him comfortable with slipping
inside.

Car parts were
tagged on shelves, with boxes stacked here and there. A table acted
as a stock checkpoint, and the full size of the storeroom was used
to the brim in an ordered-chaos way. It left little room to hide;
even the shadows seemed to be tagged and placed in a specific
position so as not to waste space.

Again, the
windows that spread across the width of the storeroom were closed
and looking happy to sleep around with the layers of undisturbed
dust.

“Whoever he
is,” whispered Martin by his ear, “he’s good, huh?” A run of hand
came under Gray’s jacket. “That get you in the mood to fuck hard?”
His body pressed in close and Gray caught the heat not only in the
heavy breath, but in the hardness digging into his thigh.

He passed Gray
a moment later and headed on over to the desk. Gray glanced behind,
back to the hall, but stayed where he was as he focused back on
Martin. Head tilted slightly, Martin ran a light finger touch over
the tabletop.

“A woman was in
here back then. Only she didn’t look like she wanted to be here.
Two men kept her company and...” He smiled. “Look at that.” Martin
plucked something from the table and held it up into the afternoon
light that split the room into half darkness, half dust. “A very
carefully placed notepad. Pen right next to it, just as it was back
then.” He glanced back. “Only the desk wasn’t here; it was over by
the woman who’d been smacked about, by—oh.”

He turned a
slow circle, hands held up as he held the notepad. Looking down at
his chest, he gave a cold chuckle. “Christmas came early, and guess
who gets to be the fucking Christmas tree with all the bastard
lights?”

Four red sniper
lasers danced on his black T-shirt, starting at the front, then
marking his back as he turned. A fifth marked the back of his head,
but the sixth jolted him to a stop as a warning shot hit the floor
at his feet, shattering the glass with a bullet hole through the
window. The angle of laser light put four snipers over on the
opposite building. The warning shot more in the direction of the
flats, higher up. The head shot?

“He’s got
friends,” said Martin. “See, that’s what happens when people like
you, Welsh.” He went to lower his arms but the next shot that came
had him cry out as it grazed his upper arm.

“Fuh-ucker. Oh
please... please tell me you brought some fucking friends like that
too.” One arm was kept raised, the other now gripping at the slight
trail of blood. Gray could see the window, the line of flats
outside, and if he could see that, then he could be seen too. It’s
why the desk had been moved from the position that Martin
remembered. They needed it by the windows.

Holding a hand
up, he eased his gun down to the floor.

As he did, he
heard the door open back down the stairs and the sound of footfalls
on hard carpet came. Gray frowned, tilting his ear. The sound of an
air gun undoing wheel bolts could be heard from the shop floor
downstairs, which suggested work hadn’t been disturbed, and if work
hadn’t been disturbed, and the newcomer had been allowed
upstairs—

“Oh.... One of
yours?” Martin raised a brow, quirking a smile. “Jeez, you really
don’t make any friends, do you?”

Gray kept his
ear turned. He hand-picked those closest to him, trusted them with
his soul. This wasn’t one of his. As the man came into the light of
the doorway, Gray knew it wasn’t one of his.

“Please.” The
man held his hand out, indicating for Gray to enter into the
storeroom. “Mr Raoul.”

No accent came,
yet the darker tan suggested that there should be one. A good
fifteen years separated them, with Gray being the younger, yet the
softly spoken tone suggested good schooling. Gray wore a suit, this
man jeans, T-shirt, and plain looking jacket. The dust on the tips
of his trainers suggested he’d been up here, perhaps moving the
table. Knuckles were scuffed, so he was used to getting dirty with
his hands. He didn’t carry a weapon now, or none that Gray could
discern. He’d sidestepped Gray’s, too, as he went over to Martin.
Hair could have been discoloured, eyes too for that matter, so Gray
didn’t bother with those details, but the way he stood hadn’t lost
a military precision.

“You’re a... a
fascinating man to watch, Mr Raoul.” He half-circled Martin, not
once crossing the sniper lasers, and Gray frowned at the slight
stutter. “Interesting company.”

Kes. He tipped
his head over at Gray and Gray measured the distance between him
and his own gun.

Martin was
taken with Kes, and followed his every move. “You want me to take a
twirl, lift my skirt up so you can see my frilly knickers?”

Giving a smile,
Kes looked over at Gray. “And I wuh-would so much love to know who
gets your attention so com-completely on the other end of those
four vibrations of your phone.”

“Fuck me,” said
Martin. “That’s some st-st-stutter you got there, Bill. Bet the
women love you. All sex and no tuh-tuh-talk. Is that what the
notepad and pen is really for? You’d like me to take a few notes,
translate? Maybe dabble in a little Makaton? Charades?”

“I recommend
you keep still, Mr Harrison.” Gray caught Kes’s raise of hand to
the window the same instant Martin moved. “Mr Raoul knows this
game, yuh-yuh—”

“You?” said
Martin. “You might need to fiddle with the old hearing aid there,
mate.” He even turned a few air tuning dials. “Although the rapper
impressions are damn funny, yuh-yuh-you.” Gray nearly snorted.
Martin was testing breaking points.

“Yes, thank
you, Mr Harrison.” Kes indicated to the table. “Put the notepad
back as it originally was when you suh-suh—”

“Saw it? Oh
for...” Martin tossed the notepad on the table, then, flicking a
look at Gray, eased himself up to sit down.

“Not smart, Mr
Harrison.” A little more exasperated now. “I suggest you don’t move
again without my say-so.”

Martin sat
poking at his wound. “Call me Martin, please. You’ve already seen
Jack naked and fucked over.” He looked up. “I feel so... intimate
with you already. You get hard watching?” As he spoke, Martin
shifted the notepad into position without looking. “But considering
we’re playing memory association here, I just remembered
something.” He held his hands out. “You weren’t here that day, but
I was sitting right fucking here on the desk when I met your bosses
other hired help. I mean, you are just the hired help, right?
Someone is paying you for this?”

Kes went to the
side of the desk, the notepad gaining his attention. “I was hired
to help recently, yes.”

Sniper light
played on Martin’s forehead now, he shifted his head up slightly
and let the light fall on his lips. “You like the way Jack groans
on those videos, Bill?”

“I loved his
silence.” A hand reached to stroke down Martin’s hair, and Gray
evened his breathing as Martin pulled away. Kes followed Martin’s
shift of head like a flock of birds chasing air currents, and a
strand of Martin’s long black hair was played between thumb and
forefinger. Loving the attention, Martin ran his tongue along the
length of thumb that played his hair.

“I could keep
you, Mr Harrison.”

Martin gave
such a wicked grin. “I very much doubt it. See, I’d get you between
the sheets, then that pet you’ve kept since a kid? I’d let it fuck
you, stick so much dog food up your ass it would tear you apart
with its dick, then its teeth just to burn out both hungers. Then
I’d give you the gentlest kiss: you and the dog, lick every ounce
of your filthy cross-blood off its teeth.”

Another lick
came at the man’s thumb. “So.... Still in the mood to try and keep
me? I’m sure Welsh there would love a breather for a few minutes.
Because take away those fucking snipers, it’s all I’d need to tear
you open.”

Kes eased his
touch away like he’d touched all that was wrong in the world.

“
Curious,” said Martin, all lightness back in his voice now.
“You’re fully out of the closet?” He looked at Gray. “Touched me in
sight of those assholes wanting to put a bullet in my head. Makes
him what?” He shrugged. “Highly doubtful he has ties to religious
terrorism, hell, they’d boil his balls for being gay. Added to the
darker skin tone... he comes from a country where gay rights are
legalised.” Martin winced, then widened his eyes a touch. “Oh...
you said
was
recently
hired to
help. I missed the past tense back there and the double-cross.
Whatever you find out today, it’s not going back to those who
‘recently’ paid you to fuck us over.”

Kes smiled at
Gray. “Beautiful mind. Such a shame it’s divided.”

“So not
religious terrorism, but after codes pertaining to a partial list
of what again?” Martin seemed to struggle.

“Historic MI6
Ops,” said Gray.

“
Oh fuck
yes.” He looked Kes over. “Skin tone, country where gay rights are
upheld, not tied to religious terrorism but after intelligence ops.
You’re Israeli... but, and a huge fucking
but
here, an Israeli who’s able to walk in off the
street and come in here under official ID....” He winced at Gray.
“Mossad intelligence. Of course he’d have official ID; he’s no
doubt here with the full grace of Her Majesty’s Government. Or MI6,
who are probably the real people behind Her Majesty’s shit anyway.”
Martin looked disappointed as he glanced at Gray. “And who at
Thames House whispered in his ear about you?”