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Philipa paled and clamped the phone back to her ear. “He leavesnow, thisinstant, or Itellhim.” She thrust the phone out to Ben, and he took it, more from habit than exactly knowing what he was doing. He held it to his ear gingerly, as if it might bite, well aware of the voices outside: a greeting; some quiet laughter.
“Ben! Can you hear me?” Nikolas had switched to Danish now. Ben had thought Philipa’s revelation would be the shard of hurt he’d take away with him this night, but the exchange of languages almost killed him.
He swallowed and replied in English, “What is this—?”
“Ben? I routinely ask nothing of you. But I’m begging you now. Just leave and come back here. Leave this alone.”
“I—” He really didn’t want to have this conversation—argument—with an audience, but rallied and, holding her gaze, continued more coldly, “Philipa’s already told me, if that’s what you’re worried about. Is that what she’s been blackmailing you with all these years? I don’t care! You lied! You always lie. You were married. You fucked. Whatever.” Nikolas, he thought, might be impressed with how well he could lie, too. He cared about this a great deal, but not now, not standing in front of this woman. The whole of her relationship with Nikolas didn’t equal one day of theirs. Itdidn’t.
“Nik?” he glanced at the phone as if he could see why Nikolas wasn’t responding.
He heard a breath. “And so it unravels. This isn’t about Philipa, Ben. It’s about Nate.”
* * *
Chapter 39
Nine Years Ago
Aleksey was silent in the car on the trip. He had nothing to say to deluded Iraqis who thought they were about to kill Benjamin Rider. It was barely dawn when they arrived; the inhabitants of the small cluster of cottages which stood in a remote valley were not yet stirring. Aleksey took another lane to the one that led to Ben’s place and navigated increasingly tiny gaps until he emerged onto a higher road which overlooked the whole parish.
He checked his watch. He reckoned half an hour should do it nicely. “We wait.”
“Wait? Why we wait? All quiet now. It good now.” Usama was stroking his thumb around the workings of his weapon lovingly. Aleksey wanted to check the safety was on. He’d once seen an Afghani fighter accidentally shoot his own cock and balls off through fondling his pistol in just such a manner. All very amusing to everyone present then, but not when you were sitting only a handbrake apart.
“It istooquiet. We require background noise.” This was like conversations he used to have with his brother:Shave your hair off, bury a lock at midnight under a full moon, and when you wake up it’ll have re-grown—but it’ll be a completely different colour! Yeah. That had worked really well for Nikolas when the bald and bleeding scalp had been discovered in the morning. Why did people just believe the utter crap that came out of his mouth? Better when there were more people up and about? To break into someone’s cottage and kill them?
They were waiting because, of course, Aleksey knew exactly when Benjamin Rider would wake from his bed, throw on some running shoes and head for the hills. They’d had that conversation only recently. In a way. Not pillow talk, obviously, although theyhadboth been lying on a hotel bed. Recovering. Not really conservation either, when you thought about it.
He’d said something incredibly boring, he seemed to remember. But most of what came out of his mouth as Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen was dull beyond enduring, so that was not unusual. It was kind of the whole point of the fiction. “I need you at this meeting with the Americans by seven Friday morning.” He remembered wondering if this was the most desperate he had ever been for a cigarette—it had been a long and exhausting session—puzzling over how he’d managed to stick to the awful fiction that he didn’t smoke. Men in their thirties rarely took up this superb habit from scratch, obviously, and Nikolas, the wimp, hadn’t smoked. It was one of the reasons he never stayed after sex. A previously acquired addiction was still overriding a growing new one—lying in bed with Benjamin Rider after fucking him.
Ben’s slow turn over to observe his profile at this pronouncement had been accompanied by a wince and a glance down to see what he was stuck to.
“So early?”
How quickly thosesirshad dropped over the years.
Aleksey smirked inwardly as he stared out over the tiny village, still dark, still quiet. It was not wholly surprising, considering what they did together. At many times during these encounters, he was not Ben Rider’s boss in any meaningful way, and Ben clearly knew it.
Aleksey recalled he’d been hoping that Ben would glance unnecessarily at his beautiful new watch, so he could admire it again on his strong, tanned wrist.
“I kinda always run at five for a couple of hours. But I can cut it back to an hour, quick shower, and be there by half seven. Latest.”
At that bizarre claim, Aleksey remembered he had turned too, just his head. He’d been struggling to lie flat, so any movement more than a roll of his neck wasn’t happening anytime soon. “You run. Every morning. For two hours. At five o’clock.”
Stroking one finger idly over the armrest of the Range Rover, Aleksey allowed a small outward smile to crease the corners of his lips, recalling his genuine horror at hearing this. Life in the gulags had been more pleasant than that.
Occasionally, Benjamin Rider got an expression on his face that had not been there when they had begun, and that had been one of those times. They were moments Aleksey waited for and...well, not treasured, because he valued nothing but himself...but stored up to enjoy later, anyway. So, clearly, very different to treasured. It was a look of complete and utter derision. It was Benjamin Rider wanting to say something entirely off the cuff and to another man he secretly thought was weird and needed to be told so.
“I like to keep fit. Ineedto keep fit.”
Aleksey had known with an inward laugh of glee that that was not what Ben had wanted to say at all. He’d decided there and then that he needed to think up a suitable nickname for Benjamin Rider. He had them for everyone, although he never told anyone what they were, obviously.
“I am very glad you think that.”
“You’re…”
Aleksey snorted softly and covered by a small cough when Usama gave him a curious glance.
