About the Book
TWO COPS, ONE CITY, NO MERCY
Dennis Milne is a man with a past, and a past that involves murder.
A former cop, he’s earned his living killing the bad guys – drug-dealers, corrupt business men - people who, in his opinion, deserve to die. For the past two days, he’s been in Manila, waiting for his next target: a young woman who’s made herself some poor life-choices, and some even worse enemies.
DI Tina Boyd is a woman on a mission.
Tough, spiky and determined, she’s looking for the man she holds responsible for the death of her lover. She knows this man’s ruthless. She knows he’s dangerous. But he’s in Manila, and she’s determined to find him – before he finds her.
Two cops with pasts that haunt them - and a present that could see them both dead. They are about to meet.
And when they do, it’s payback time …
Also by Simon Kernick
The Business of Dying
The Murder Exchange
The Crime Trade
A Good Day to Die
Relentless
Severed
Deadline
The Last 10 Seconds
For more information on Simon Kernick and his books, see his website at www.simonkernick.com
The Payback
SIMON KERNICK
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781409030300
www.randomhouse.co.uk
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
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First published in Great Britain
in 2011 by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Simon Kernick 2011
Simon Kernick has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBNs 9780593062883 (cased)
9780593062890 (tpb)
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Contents
Dedication
About the Book
Also by Simon Kernick
Prologue
Part One: The Axe Rises
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Part Two: The Axe Steadies
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Part Three: The Axe Falls
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Manila One Week Later
Epilogue Bangkok, August
This book is dedicated to the occupant of room 927, Victory Executive Residences, Soi Rangnam, Bangkok, November 2006 to August 2008. You, and only you, know who you are, and thank you so much for finding me when you did.
Prologue
As soon as the man in black walked into the cluttered little office, a briefcase in one gloved hand, a large, lethal-looking pistol in the other, Nick Penny realized that in an occasionally distinguished career of stepping on the toes of those with something to hide, he’d finally planted his size nines squarely on the wrong ones.
‘You’ve been a bad boy,’ said the man in heavily accented yet perfect English, coming towards Penny’s desk and raising the pistol so it was pointed at the centre of his chest – a cold, knowing expression on a face that was otherwise perfectly ordinary.
Penny was frozen to his seat. ‘Please,’ he whispered, conscious of his heart hammering in his chest. ‘I don’t want to die.’
‘No one wants to die, Mr Penny,’ said the gunman evenly. ‘Unfortunately, in this matter you have no choice.’
Instinctively, Penny shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, waiting for the impact of the bullet.
But the gunman didn’t pull the trigger. Instead, he took a seat opposite him. ‘Where you do have a choice, however,’ he continued, waiting until Penny opened his eyes again, ‘is the manner in which you depart.’ He motioned towards Penny’s open notebook. ‘I want you to write three short letters. The first will be to your wife, asking for her forgiveness, and apologizing both for your deception and for what you are about to do. You will address her as Nat and sign it Nick. The second will be to your former lover, saying that you can’t take the pressure any more. You will address her as T, and sign it Mr P. The third will be to your daughters, Ella and Amelie. Again, you will ask for their forgiveness. You will also add that you hope one day they will understand your actions. You will, of course, sign this letter “Love Daddy”.’
Penny flinched at the mention of his two daughters. He stared at the gunman, wondering how on earth this man knew so much about him. Not only the names of his family, but also that of the woman he’d been seeing secretly for the past three months. He’d worked incredibly hard to cover his tracks there, having no desire to cause Natalie undue upset, but even so, he�
�d been found out by a complete stranger, and one who even knew the pet name his lover had used right up until the end of their affair, two weeks earlier. Mr P. He’d loved the way she’d purred it when they were in bed.
The man must have bugged her house, as well as his own, which meant he was a professional – something that was obvious by his calm, unflappable manner, and the blankness of his expression. But to Penny, it also meant that he could be reasoned with.
‘Look, there must be some way we can sort this out,’ he said, trying hard to keep the fear out of his voice.
‘I’m afraid there isn’t,’ said the man, his expression unchanging. ‘You are to write those letters. Then you are to hang yourself from the overhead beam with rope that I will provide you with.’
Penny instinctively looked up at the RSJ that ran from one end of the office to the other, knowing it would easily hold his weight, then back at the man sitting opposite him. He was finding it difficult to believe that this was happening. He’d always known that some of the work he did carried with it an element of danger, but never in his worst nightmares had he expected to be staring down the barrel of a gun and pleading for his life.
‘Please . . .’ he whispered.
‘Start writing, Mr Penny, and don’t worry if you’ve forgotten what to say. I can dictate.’
Penny frowned. ‘You can’t make me do it,’ he said with a lot more confidence than he felt. ‘That gun’s a nine-millimetre. It’ll make a hell of a noise if it goes off in here, and you don’t have a silencer.’ He knew that the downstairs office was empty, and that the guy who worked next door was hardly ever there, but it was still possible that he could spook the man enough to make him think twice.
But it didn’t work. The man gave him a thin, bloodless smile. ‘That’s true. But I’m not going to need to fire it. I have something far better.’ Still keeping the gun trained on Penny, he leaned down, unclipped the briefcase, and produced a small black netbook. He opened it up one-handed and placed it in the middle of the desk, with the screen facing Penny. ‘Press Enter and tell me what you see.’
With a growing sense of dread, Penny did as he was told.
And froze.
His face crumpled. ‘Oh Jesus.’
On the screen was a view of the rear of the cottage he shared with Natalie and his two children, taken from the woods at the end of the garden. By the way the screen was shaking slightly, it was clear that someone was filming the cottage with a handheld camera. In the foreground, he could make out the trampoline, as well as the plastic Wendy house that the girls had all but grown out of now. Because of the time of year, it was already dark and there were lights on inside. As he watched, terrified that something might have happened to them already, he saw the unmistakable figure of Natalie, her auburn hair in a tight ponytail, moving about in the kitchen, looking as if she was getting the girls’ tea ready. The camera panned in on her, so that her top half took up much of the screen as she poured water into a saucepan, blissfully unaware that she was being watched.
Looking up from the laptop, Penny watched as the gunman put a mobile phone to his ear and barked a command into it in Russian. A second later, the camera panned away from the cottage and the man holding it set it down, turning it round so that it was facing him. The cameraman took a couple of steps backwards so that the whole of his top half was visible. He wore dark clothing and a balaclava, and Penny felt his heart lurch as he saw the huge hunting knife in his hand, the metal glinting in the moonlight.
‘The man you see there is an associate of mine,’ explained the gunman matter-of-factly. ‘He’s awaiting my orders. If I tell him to, he will go inside your house and round up your family, and then he will cut your wife’s throat in front of your children, before cutting their throats one after the other.’
Penny swallowed. He felt physically sick. ‘You can’t do this,’ he groaned, his voice shaking.
‘We can, and make no mistake, Mr Penny, we will – unless you do what you are told.’
‘But they’re just bloody kids,’ he said desperately, rubbing his hand across his forehead, wanting to launch himself at the man opposite and tear him apart limb from limb, but knowing, in reality, that he was utterly impotent.
The gunman shrugged. ‘That’s not my concern. And in case you think I’m bluffing, I have to tell you that my associate is both psychotic and sadistic. Luckily for me, he’s also reliable. He has killed on my behalf on three separate occasions, and neither the age nor sex of the victims means anything to him.’
‘Oh God . . .’
‘But if you do what I say, no harm will befall them.’
‘How do I know you’re not lying? How do I know you won’t kill them anyway?’
‘Because my client wants only you to die. And he wants your death to look …’ He paused a moment. ‘Unsuspicious. Can you say that?’
Penny found himself nodding.
‘If you write suicide notes and hang yourself, then it will look unsuspicious, but if we are forced to kill your family, then obviously it won’t, which would cause my client problems. Therefore we would prefer to avoid such an outcome. Of course, your death will be unfortunate for your wife and children – they will no doubt be very upset – but it will be considerably better for them than the alternative.’
‘I know who your client is,’ said Penny, his mind, like his pulse, racing. Like any human being in his situation, he couldn’t accept that he was going to die. Instead, he was hunting for a survival strategy. Any strategy. ‘Look, I know now I’m out of my depth, so I’ll stop everything to do with the investigation right now. I’ll never write another bloody word about it. You have my word on that.’ He slapped a hand on his heart to signify that he meant what he said, hoping above all hope that it was enough.
But it wasn’t. The gunman simply smiled again. ‘I don’t believe you, Mr Penny. Nor does my client. I’m afraid either you write those notes, and do what I say, or I will give my associate the order to butcher your family. Take a good look at his knife and imagine it slicing across the throats of your wife and daughters while they scream for mercy, knowing that no one will hear them, because your nearest neighbours are more than a hundred metres away. That’s the problem with living somewhere isolated, isn’t it?’
Penny shook his head from side to side. ‘Oh Jesus,’ he sobbed as it finally hit him that his life was almost certainly about to end. ‘Oh God.’
‘You have ten seconds to make up your mind.’
Before he’d become a father, Penny had always scoffed when his friends who were parents had told him that they wouldn’t hesitate to die for their children. He’d always been unable to understand the enormity of such a concept. But now that he had two beautiful daughters of his own, he knew with absolute certainty that they were right. In all honesty, he wouldn’t have died for Natalie. Their marriage had long since degenerated into a meandering, loveless routine. He wouldn’t have died for his lover, either. He was infatuated with her, maybe even loved her; but, in the end, he’d always known it wasn’t going to last for ever. But Ella and Amelie . . . there was no question. And he knew the man seated opposite him was deadly serious, because he knew exactly who the gunman’s client was, and what that monster was capable of.
Penny cursed himself for ever getting involved, for making himself so easy to follow and to trap, for buying an isolated cottage where the massacre of his family could take place without a soul knowing about it. He cursed himself for everything, even though it was far too late to change a thing.
Then he stared into the pale face of the gunman, trying to locate a chink of humanity in the cold, professional demeanour, but finding none.
‘How can you live with yourself?’ he asked with a final, instinctive show of defiance.
The gunman allowed himself a small, knowing smile. ‘Far more easily than you could understand,’ he answered, removing a length of rope from the briefcase as Penny opened his notebook and began writing.
One
&nbs
p; THE AXE RISES
One
Hong Kong. It’s the king of modern, twenty-first-century cities, an architectural marvel that grabs you the moment you leave the airport and travel along the smooth, almost traffic-free road, over immense bridges stretched like steel skeletons across a blue-grey sea that brims with junks and cargo ships heading in and out of one of the great natural harbours of the world. Seven million people live on this scattering of tiny mountainous islands, parts of which are still swathed in the same sub-tropical greenery that was there a thousand, probably even a million, years ago. Yet they’re also home to a forest of glass and concrete skyscrapers that charge upwards, as if in competition, into the swirling white mist that so often clings to the mountaintops. Whether you like big cities or not, you can’t help but be drawn to it.
Personally, I don’t much like them. I spent almost twenty years in London and that was easily enough urban living for several lifetimes. These days home is the hot, sleepy town of Luang Prabang in the forests of northern Laos, only a few hundred miles from Hong Kong as the crow flies but a million miles away in every other sense, and infinitely more preferable for a man like me. But even so, I still felt a small sense of awe as I stared out of the window of the taxi taking me to Hong Kong Island and my destination.
I’d only been here once before, about eighteen months ago, and that time it had been to kill a man – a brash, corrupt British ex-pat who thought he was invincible but wasn’t. But that’s another story. The reason for this visit was to see the man who was my occasional employer. His name was Bertie Schagel and he was Dutch.
Now normally I like the Dutch. They’re a genial bunch and they always speak excellent English, which makes communication easy. Bertie Schagel spoke excellent English, but he was not a nice man. In fact, he was one of the most repellent people I’ve ever met – and I’ve been unfortunate enough to meet quite a few of them in my life. But I owed him big-time and he’d spent the last three years calling in the debt. It was Schagel who’d sent me here the last time to kill the ex-pat, because that seemed to be one of his primary businesses, liquidating people on behalf of other people, and in the dog-eat-dog world of modern globalized capitalism, there seemed to be no shortage of work.