Killing for the Company by Chris Ryan Page A

strong that Chet didn’t bother with stealth. He strode straight towards the young woman. When he was about a metre behind her, he saw that she was crouched over what appeared at first glance to be some kind of photographic equipment on a tripod. Chet quickly twigged what it actually was, though: a long-range laser listening device. All you had to do was point the viewfinder in the direction of a window. The device would pick up the vibrations on that window caused by people speaking inside, then convert them back into sound. Linked to it was a little black cassette machine that was recording whatever the listening device picked up.
    Chet had used something similar once himself, during a short tour in Northern Ireland just before he was dispatched to the Balkans. On that occasion he’d been treated to the sound of a PIRA bomb-maker in flagrante with some slapper he’d picked up in a pub a few hours previously. He was still getting stuck in when they burst into the flat.
    Back then, the laser listening device had been supplied by 14 Intelligence Company, surveillance experts with all the latest equipment at their disposal. Where the hell this girl had acquired such a piece of kit was anyone’s guess. Maybe he’d just ask her.
    Chet tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped and spun round. She was wearing headphones connected to the apparatus, and her eyes were slightly wild.
    ‘OK, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
    Her eyes darted from Chet, to the apparatus, to the office on the other side of the road – through the window of which Stratton and the American couldn’t be seen because of the tinted glass. She seemed unable to speak. ‘Oh, God . . .’ she breathed.
    ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Chet said calmly, holding his hands palm outwards to try to calm her down. He found his eye drawn to the curve of her neck. The smooth, unblemished skin.
    ‘ No . . . ’ Suddenly there were tears in her eyes. ‘Please. Please! ’
    ‘Just come with me and we’ll sort this out.’ She seemed terrified, so he tried to sound as reasonable as possible.
    ‘ Please . . . ’ Her tear-filled voice was hoarse now. ‘They’ll kill me if they find out. I swear, they’ll kill me . . .’
    She was desperate. That much was obvious. Desperate or nuts. Why was it always the cute ones that ended up being loonies? Chet could tell by the way she glanced over his shoulder that she was preparing to bolt; when she did, he was ready for her. He grabbed her by the top of one arm before she could even get past him. She started to writhe violently, but her slim build was no match for his strength. He kept a firm grip on her until her struggling had subsided into short, panicked breaths.
    ‘Listen to me carefully,’ he told her. ‘Nobody’s trying to kill anybody. You just need to come with me . . .’ But the girl was shaking her head again. She glanced down at the meeting room, then looked as if she’d made a sudden, reckless decision.
    She removed the earpiece she was wearing and handed it to Chet. ‘Listen,’ she urged him. ‘Listen to what they’re saying . . .’
    Chet shook his head. He wasn’t interested. If he brought her in, the Grosvenor Group would think the sun shone out of his arse. The gig would be his for life. He made to grab her again.
    The girl shrank back. ‘If you don’t listen,’ she said, ‘you’ll have to carry me kicking and screaming out of this building, I swear. They’ll think you’re . . . raping me or something . . .’
    Chet stared at her. She was totally wired, and looked as if she might just do what she threatened.
    ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he said. He grabbed the earpiece and put it in his ear, half wondering if he’d be humouring her like this if she wasn’t a looker.
    At first all he could hear was an indistinct and horrible cacophony – interference from the wind and the traffic down below – all of which was clearly affecting the vibrations of the window glass. He winced as he