Authors: Luca Pesaro
‘You changed your mind. How come?’
Walker exhaled and took a deep breath, relieved. ‘I was getting bored.’
She scoffed and found a seat near the exit. ‘At least you didn’t bring any friends.’
Walker sat across from her, resting his head on the window. ‘Is that what you were doing? Waiting to see if I showed up with the police?’
‘You can’t be too careful these days. But at least you proved you aren’t as dumb as you look.’
‘Maybe. They might just be waiting for you at the next station.’
She pulled out a tablet computer from her new backpack and turned it on, ignoring him.
‘Aren’t you worried?’
Layla lifted her eyes away from the screen for a second. ‘If you don’t want to tell me why you’re here, fine. But please don’t waste my time.’
Dover was almost two hours away and Walker spent most of the trip blindly staring out of the window, remembering the happy times with DM and trying to process the loss. His thoughts twisted in a mess of pain and rage, and a part of him screamed for revenge. Though he was worried
about what would happen to him, the images of his friend’s tortured body stuck like a dark scar in his brain. He wished he could lay his fists on whoever had done it, but first he needed to prove he had not been involved in his friend’s death – that someone else was behind the events. And for that he needed DeepShare.
If anyone had any idea of where DM kept a copy of the access codes, it could only be his one sibling. Walker had met Jiwa-Sai Khaing a couple of times in London, and once on a skiing weekend in Switzerland. JS was DM’s older brother and had been a father figure to him as the two boys had escaped Burma, helped by their Swiss relatives, to end up, orphaned, in one of Geneva’s most prestigious boarding schools.
JS had later become a senior Swiss-Army officer, a colonel stationed at one of the hidden military bases in the mountains near Zurich. Walker would need to convince him he’d had nothing to do with DM’s murder, but the Colonel knew about their friendship. He should listen, hopefully.
Walker forced himself to think one step at a time. Though he had to be careful using his passport, his dual-citizenship meant he always carried an Italian ID that should be good enough to get him past the border into Switzerland. He also had friends in the country, and might be able to get hold of some of his rainy-day money. And once he got access to DeepOmega he’d have a chance to sort this mess out. Maybe.
His mind made up, he concentrated on Layla; she’d been studying something on her tablet for a long time, and he wondered what she was up to. He needed to know more about her, what her reasons and plans were. He glanced around – Dover was still almost an hour away and the train carriage rumbled on almost empty, with no one sitting nearby. ‘I want my money back. And my phone.’
‘I never took your phone,’ she shrugged. ‘What the hell would I do with it, anyway? You must have lost it at the Snake. You weren’t exactly in good shape over there.’
‘Maybe. What about my money?’
She mock-groaned and looked up, a faint smile on her lips. ‘Forget about it, we’ll need it to pay my fisherman pal, anyway.’
‘How much is that going to be?’
‘Three grand.’
‘You took more than ten. I need the Euros at least – I can’t quite use my credit cards, can I?’
‘No,’ Layla sighed. ‘You shouldn’t. But you’re not going to get very far with a few thousand
Euros.’
‘Don’t worry, I have a plan. What about you?’
‘I’ll vanish after we reach France.’ She readjusted herself on the seat, the light jumper she was wearing on top of tight leggings bulging in all the right places. ‘Now be quiet and don’t worry about me. I’ve done it before.’ She looked back down at the screen and started typing.
‘I’m sure.’
Layla’s ‘friend’ knew her as Maria, another one of an impressive collection of names. He met them at a country pub that was so remote even her tablet couldn’t find an internet connection. His name was Charlie and he dragged around a weather-beaten face that made him look older than a rock, decorated by a fat moustache and a heavy cap. He sat down at their table with a beer and told them they would have to wait until late afternoon before leaving, as he wanted to land in France well past midnight.
After a couple of hours of stilted conversation Charlie eventually stuck them in the back of his truck and drove to the fishermen’s docks in Old Romney, where they boarded his ancient Cuddy boat. He fussed around with a few things and sent them below deck, to a narrow cabin where the old man kept his bunk. After several attempts, he finally managed to start the outboat engine and stuck his head back in as they were looking around the cramped quarters.
‘It’s going to get a bit rough tonight – Maria, you might want to lie down. The next few hours could become unpleasant.’ He nodded and slipped out, busying himself with some fishing nets.
Layla sat down on the tiny bunk-bed with a sigh and shuffled around, trying to get comfortable. ‘God, I hate boats.’
‘Me too. I get ludicrously seasick.’ Walker inched closer to the cot, his back bent to avoid bumping his head on a beam. The Cuddy lurched and he lost his footing, stamping on her shoe.
‘Ouch! What are you doing?’
‘You’ll have to make me some room.’
‘What?’
‘If you don’t want to get splattered in vomit, I’ll need to lie down as well. Whatever you slipped me last night is still killing me.’
‘Great.’ She half-turned and lay back against the cabin wall, freeing about a foot of space just as the Cuddy started gliding along the water, its engine rumbling softly.
Walker slid next to her, his shoulder pressing against her breasts. Layla grunted and pinched him hard before she readjusted her shoulders, slipping one leg onto his thighs, right arm across his chest. She was warm, soft and firm at the same time.
‘Don’t get any ideas,’ she grumbled, her voice low.
‘Of course not. Once was more than enough, thank you very much.’
Walker must have nodded off for a while before waking with a start as the boat shuddered heavily on the waves; he bounced his head against the low roof of the bed’s nook and swore. Layla giggled and shifted against him, trying to find a less uncomfortable position in the near-darkness.
‘You were snoring. Not as badly as last night, though.’
‘Shut up.’ Walker’s stomach swayed and he fought to control a backdraft of nausea. His headache had returned with a vengeance.
‘Okay.’ Layla was quiet for a few seconds before she continued. ‘Did DM have a cleaner?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then it might be a couple of days before his body is discovered. That should give you a bit of time.’
Walker considered telling her about the blood drops planted in his flat. The police had probably found them, anyway. In the end he decided not to – she already knew more than enough about him. ‘Why are you helping me?’ he asked instead.
‘I’m almost done helping. From tomorrow morning you are on your own.’
‘Still, why? You don’t strike me as the good samaritan type.’
Layla took a deep breath, considering. ‘Stealing is one thing, murder is different. I guess I just felt sorry for landing you in such deep shit. You’re way out of your league, Walker.’ She winked at him. ‘And you seem like a good guy, for a banker.’
‘Thanks.’ Was it true, or was she still after something? He shrugged, annoyed.
Whatever
. When they reached France he’d make his own way.
‘So what’s the plan now?’
‘A friend of Charlie’s is picking us up near the small beach where we’ll land; then we can drive to Reims – it’s less than two hundred miles away. I know a quiet place to spend the night, and in the morning you can head to the train station. From there, you’ll be able to reach anywhere in Europe quickly, and without needing your passport.’
‘That sounds good. Thank you.’
‘No problem,’ she sighed. ‘We all do stupid things at times, and I guess this was my turn.’ She nudged him sharply with her elbow. ‘Though if I had known how much space you were going to take up, I might have reconsidered.’ She grimaced and pushed him away, almost over the edge of the thin mattress.
‘Me too.’
Sometime later the sea became rougher and the old Cuddy fought and twisted on the waves. Charlie poked his head into the cabin, his croaky voice loud in the small, dark space. ‘One hour to go, but it’s going to get nasty now.’ He was soaked by the heavy rain.
Walker could hear Layla gritting her teeth. ‘Great.’
She squeezed him tighter as the boat rocked from side to side, the point dipping under the wind as higher waves rose and crashed around them. He felt like his insides were about to explode out of his ears and mouth, nausea making the tiny cabin turn like a spinning top. Layla groaned, the suffering clear in her voice. ‘I’m going to be sick.’
‘Don’t even think about it.’ Walker fought to keep down the pub lunch, his own stomach twisting into a knot.
‘I hate boats.’
‘You’ve already said that.’
‘Fuck off.’ Layla took a deep breath. ‘Talk to me, please.’ She grabbed his hand, shuddering.
‘About what?’
‘Anything. Something interesting. I need to take my mind off this…’
The boat lifted in the air and dropped like a roller-coaster, wooden beams groaning under the stress. Layla jerked, sliding almost on top of him. ‘Come on, please…’ She groaned again. ‘What is a DeepShare?’
Here we go
. He had to be careful, now. ‘It’s a computer program. A big, complicated one, and it’s none of your business.’ He shifted a little, trying not to fall off the bunk. ‘What are
you
?’
‘Fine,
I’ll
talk,’ she sighed, her right hand grabbing his shirt and crumpling it as the Cuddy lurched again. ‘I’m a honey-trap.’
‘That much I figured. Why?’
‘Why?’ Layla scoffed. ‘Sometimes you don’t get to choose…’ She hesitated, breathing shallowly for a few seconds. Walker waited until she continued. ‘I was born in Mexico, near the Chiapas. My family was very poor, worse than you can imagine. It’s a bad area, drugs, lawlessness…’
‘I’ve heard of it.’ The sea rumbled and roared around them, almost drowning his words.
‘You have
no
idea. When I turned twelve, my father gave me a choice. Since I was pretty, I could become a prostitute in a brothel near San Cristobal, the big town. Or he would sell me to the secret police. They needed the money for my little brothers and sisters.’ She spoke with a cold, hard edge but Walker could hear a shadow of old pain in her voice.
‘Jesus.’ Was this just another story?
‘At least he gave me a choice. Some of my friends – they weren’t so lucky.’ She paused for a second, regaining her composure. The Cuddy rocked again, almost throwing Walker off the bed. Layla’s hands shook. ‘Did I mention I hate boats?’
‘You might have. What did you choose, then?’
‘The secret police. It sounded better than a brothel. But they trained me to be a kind of prostitute anyway, for information instead of money. For years I was taught to seduce men, and fight. Then they sent me deep undercover in drug barons’ country – I lasted eighteen months, which is a lot longer than most. In the end I ran, escaped to the US and set up my own business.’ Her voice hardened again. ‘I guess the job is the same, but at least I get paid properly.’
‘Sometimes.’
Layla kneed him in the crotch, making Walker gasp in pain. ‘You were too easy anyway, banker-guy. Certainly not worth twenty-five grand.’
Charlie knocked and opened the small cabin door. ‘Get ready, sweethearts. We’re almost there.’
France
‘
What the fuck is going on?
’
The phone had rung a few times before but the Englishman had avoided answering while waiting for updates. In the end, suspecting the man was about to explode into inadequacy, he had decided to pick up before the American did something stupid
.
‘
It’s all under control
.’
‘
No, it’s fucking not. You’ve killed the mathematician
.’
The American sounded as if he was about to have a heart attack
.
‘
Mistakes were made. By the people you’ve chosen, I should add. But we’re working on it
.’
‘
What? You’ve got to be…
’
‘
Don’t worry. Just give me a few days, maybe a week
.’
‘
Forget it. It’s going to be a murder investigation, now, for God’s sake. You need to move much faster
.’
The Englishman swallowed, suddenly uncertain
. ‘
I’ll see what I can do
.’
‘
You better. If any of this comes out, we’re both finished
.’
‘
It won’t
.’
The boat came to a halt less than twenty yards away from the beach, in shallow water. The rain had calmed down and a sliver of moon glinted through the clouds, but the night was still freezing. Walker and Layla waded through the surf and reached the sand shivering, wet to the waist.
Car headlights shone just beyond some low shrubs of vegetation and they made their way to the small battered Peugeot that was waiting for them. Layla got in the front, next to a thin older lady who was sitting behind the wheel. Walker climbed in the back and tried to make himself comfortable. The ice-cold water had shocked his system enough to get rid of the nausea and he felt a little better, but a veil of exhaustion threatened to swamp him and he soon fell asleep as the little car moved along dark, empty country roads.
Sometime later, a heavy backpack landed on his chest, waking him with a jolt.
‘Rise and shine, pretty boy. We’re in Reims.’
Walker sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to clear the fog from his mind. ‘What time is it?’
‘Almost two in the morning.’ Shop- and bar-lights flashed by as Layla drove through tiny cobbled streets in an ancient town centre. The old lady had disappeared without a trace. Walker could still smell her sickening perfume and was about to ask what had happened to her when the car shuddered to a halt and Layla got out. He shrugged and joined her under a broken streetlight.
‘What now?’