Ghosts (2014) by Mark Dawson

Author:Mark Dawson [Dawson, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller
Publisher: Black Dog Publishing
Published: 2013-06-01T12:00:00+00:00

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The hostel was on the third floor at the end of a maze of windowless corridors that Milton found intensely claustrophobic. He had completely lost his sense of direction and, the deeper they penetrated the warren of rooms, the more vulnerable he felt. An ambush here would be difficult to escape. The Golden Guest House was announced by a painted sign and the open door beneath gave onto a tiny lobby with a bored looking man behind the desk. It was hot and sticky. A broken desk fan sat impotently on a low table between two battered sofas, yellowed stuffing leaking out between rents in the leather that looked like they had been torn open at the point of a knife. The man behind the desk was small and sallow faced, eating a piece of greasy chicken with his fingers as he watched American wrestling. He barely looked up as Milton and Anna entered.

“I’m looking for a woman,” Milton said.

“We all look for woman,” the man said with a lewd smirk at Anna.

“A friend of mine. I think she’s staying here.”

“Can’t talk about guest. Confidential.”

Milton had a photograph of Beatrix that the Russians had provided. It was old, from before the time of the hit on Shcherbatov, and she was dressed in what Milton thought was a police uniform. The likeness was good from what he could remember but it was nearly ten years out of date; time would have aged her, surely, not to mention the changes she would have effected herself. He laid it flat on the counter and left a hundred dollar bill on top of it. The clerk sucked the grease from his fingers and then wiped them on his shirt, pocketed the bill and turned the photograph around so that he could look at it properly. He put a finger up his nostril and turned it around absently. “I don’t know. Maybe I know her, maybe I don’t. Hard to be sure.”

Milton dropped another hundred on the counter and, as the man reached for it, Milton caught his hand and squeezed.

“Ow!” he said. “That hurts!”

“You take me to her room now, alright?”

Milton knew taekwondo and all of the pressure points. His thumb was pushing on the nerve, sending exquisite bolts of pain up the arm. The man winced and thought better of trying to inveigle another hundred out of him. “Okay, I show.”

Milton smiled politely and released the man’s hand.

He led them through a narrow corridor to a tiny box of a room with a single bed, a suitcase propped against the wall and an old-fashioned cathode ray portable television set resting atop a rickety dresser. The A/C unit above the bed gurgled and expectorated a trail of moisture that had stained the wall. There were no windows and, although there was a bathroom, it was only just big enough for the toilet with the result that the shower head was directly overhead.

“How long has she been here?”

“Don’t know. Six month, seven month, maybe more.

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