Page 102 of We Chase Shadows

‘Uh, the 20th,’ says Adam. ‘Sorry, had to think for a second because of the time difference.’

‘Yeah,’ says Amy.

So it would have been ridiculous, turning up unannounced with a box of copper bullet casings. And, now she thinks about it, how would she have got them through customs? How do the Saudi authorities deal with women in short dresses bringing bullets through airports?

‘That hydroelectric generator is very noisy,’ she says. ‘I wouldn’t buy it.’

‘What if I told you it was yours for just seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars?’

‘Seven hundred and forty thousand dollars,’ counters Amy.

‘Seven hundred and forty-five,’ says Adam.

‘Sold,’ says Amy. ‘I don’t suppose it’s copper?’

‘Copper?’ says Adam. ‘Probably got some copper wiring in it. Why?’

‘Nothing,’ says Amy. ‘I should get some sleep.’

‘Me too,’ says Adam.

‘Could we chat tomorrow too, do you think?’

‘I’m in and out of things all day,’ says Adam. ‘But I’ll try. Sweet dreams, Princess.’

‘Sweet dreams, my prince,’ says Amy.

If she’s not going to see him, she hopes at least she’ll speak to him.

Amy closes her eyes. She opens them immediately when she wonders why on earth she can hear a hydroelectric generator when Adam is supposed to be going to bed?

She looks at her watch. Midnight. Happy anniversary, Amy.

Part Five

THE HUNTER’S REST

53

Right now Mark Drury is feeling pretty pleased with himself. He has made it across both moats, and nobody is any the wiser. That’s one more moat than he has ever had to navigate before. He scratches his neck, just above the eagle tattoo.

He is as surprised as anyone to find himself back in the hitman game.

Mark had been going straight. Had given up his vices – the main vice being murdering people for a living, but he had also cut down on his vaping – and was settling into life in the City. He was good at it. Not as good as he was at being a hitman, he’s very good at that, but good enough. The key was to show no fear, and, as befits a man who has recently knifed a bodyguard to death in an Italian villa, then shot someone in broad daylight in Palm Springs, Mark has always had a very healthy relationship with fear.

It’s a new client, and a new opportunity to impress. Eriksson is the guy’s name. Jakob Eriksson. Swedish? Doesn’t really matter, he pays well.

He sees a car leaving the house. It’s the ex-cop, Steve. The ex-cop does not see him. And that’s what you get when you hire a professional.

Mark remembers those first few weeks at the brokerage, everything around him moving at speed, everyone running circles around him. But he’d picked it up, just like he’d picked this game up years ago. Knew his business after a couple of months, and a couple of years later was making good money. He really thought he was set for life. He’d even taken Laura to Greece for a week, and thought his days of killing for a living were behind him.

How long had he gone without killing anyone? Must have been three years?

Then came AI.

At first it was fun, making pictures and little videos. For a month or so it was making his job easier too. Taking care of some of the boring stuff, some of the grunt work. Numbers, invoices, the sort of thing Mark wasn’t all that good at. Mark was good at the instinct stuff. At spotting something before his competitor.

But fast-forward another two months or so and it became clear that AI was better than Mark at the instinct stuff too. The AI could spot something before its competitor, and, he realized later than he should, its competitor was Mark himself.