A Different War by Craig Thomas

Author:Craig Thomas [Thomas, Craig]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Time Warner
Published: 1998-08-15T04:00:00+00:00

"Where is he?"

The hangar at Oslo airport. Roussillon is on the spot, has him under close surveillance. He's even got the security guard out of the way.

Gant is alone," he added seductively. He listened to the silence at the other end of the line.

Eventually, Winterborne said, irritatedly:

"What about Marian?"

"Jessop and Cobb a petrol bomb through her kitchen window."

"And?"

They didn't remain at the scene. Her file suggested it as the best way to make the biggest impact. Some childhood accident—"

"I know about her accident as a child!" Winterborne hissed.

"I want to know what happened to her!"

It was as if Winterborne was expressing regret for something he was certain had occurred. Mea culpa. All the guilt crap had infected him like a disease he had not expected to catch. He was afraid that the woman was dead; something was suddenly and surprisingly persuading him that he had never meant it to happen. Fraser mocked silently.

Winterborne would get over it. It wasn't much more than a slight cold in his case, conscience — otherwise he would never have begun this, never have acquired Complete Security, staffed it with people like himself, gone as far as he had. In a couple of days, a week at most, he'd have persuaded himself of the necessity of the woman's removal. If it had already happened in the house fire, he'd soon see the sense of it.

I'll find out, sir," he replied obsequiously.

"But, Gant I think I must emphasise that he poses the more immediate danger. A risk that is unacceptably high." He added the last in deference to the evident self-satisfaction that seeped down the line.

"Agreed, then. Get rid of Gant. And do it quietly, with no traces.

Tell Roussillon. Good night, Fraser."

The connection was severed.

"And good night to you sir." Fraser scowled at the receiver. He switched it off and threw it on the bed.

One down for certain. There'd be tantrums if the woman was already dead, or lying in an emergency bed, roasted to a crisp that much was obvious. But none over Gant's demise. That was death at a safe distance… Made you sick, the ease with which they could order the disposal of human beings. Look, my hands are clean. Businessmen and politicos took to that easy kind of gangsterism with alacrity. The end of the Cold War had left people like himself lying around like weapons, ready to be acquired, ready to go off. The likes of Winterborne enjoyed an arm's-length relationship with people like him, it gave them a buzz. It provided them with simple solutions to problems. It was easier than most other ways of doing business.

He picked up the telephone and dialled Roussillon's number. As he had remarked to the Frog, his lot had always been up for the kind of thing the Brits were just learning… that you can run a conglomerate with the same methods and means as an intelligence operation.

So, good night, Mr. Gant and I mean good night.

It was a half-assed security firm. He'd known

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