Manhunter by Chris Ryan (the false prince series .TXT) 📗

to the Scot’s right. Lang eyed Mallet suspiciously as the latter dragged his forefingers across the touchscreen pad, scrolling and clicking.

‘What the fuck is this?’ he sneered. ‘You want to show me your private porn collection or something?’

Mallet said nothing. He typed, hit Enter.

Lang smirked. ‘You’re not a spook. I can tell. You ain’t got the look. Not posh enough. You must be the muscle. Thicko soldiers, doing the heavy lifting. Am I right?’

Mallet didn’t say a word.

‘Fuck you, then. Miserable prick,’ Lang said. He cocked his head at Bowman. ‘How’s that touch of the flu, son? Better?’

Bowman stayed silent. Mallet tapped another key on the laptop. Suddenly a long melodic ringtone filled the air. Mallet turned the laptop round, training the built-in camera on Lang. After six seconds, the caller on the other end answered, and an eerie, synthesised female voice filled the air.

‘Hello, David,’ the Voice said.

Lang stared at the blank screen, his eyes shrinking to dots. ‘Who is this?’

‘My name is not important,’ the Voice said in its monotonous automated tone. ‘All you need to know is that I’m from the security services.’

‘Yeah? Then show us your fucking face.’

‘That won’t be necessary. Now, let me explain what’s going to happen. The men in your apartment work for us. We’re going to ask you some questions. And you’re going to give us the answers.’

‘I ain’t saying shit to you poofs. Not to you,’ he said, meeting Mallet’s gaze, ‘or to no fucking computer screen. For all I know, this is some wind-up.’

‘We’re not playing games,’ Mallet said. ‘You’ll do as we say, Davey Boy.’

Lang eased back in his chair and chuckled. ‘Or what? You and your mates will scare me to death? Is that it?’

Mallet glared at him with a look that could skin an animal.

The Voice said, ‘It’s in your interest to cooperate with us, David. We already know you’re planning to meet with the Russian ambassador and Sergei Galkin in Antibes today, at midday.’

‘It’s a free country, last I heard. I can meet with mates. That’s none of your business.’

‘You’ve arranged a meeting with two well-known Kremlin associates behind our backs. We know you and Seguma both wanted to keep this meeting a closely guarded secret. That’s why you conspired to send a body double to the royal wedding.’

Lang said nothing.

‘You’re trying to pressure Seguma into changing allegiance,’ the Voice went on. ‘That’s the real reason for this meeting with the Russians, isn’t it? To persuade him to abandon his alliance with us and bend the knee to Moscow.’

Lang’s shoulders heaved up and down as he let out a dirty laugh. ‘You people don’t know shit.’

Mallet gave him a menacing stare. ‘The game’s up, pal. You’ve been caught red-handed. Tell us what the plan is.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘We’re doing you a favour, you idiot,’ Bowman said.

‘You stuck a gun in my face, son. I’d hardly call that good manners.’

The corner of Mallet’s mouth teased upwards. A wicked glint flashed in his eyes. ‘Tell me something. When was the last time you spoke to your twin brother?’

‘A few days ago. Why?’

‘You should treasure that conversation, Davey Boy. It’ll be the last time you ever speak to him.’

Lang’s expression darkened. ‘The fuck are you talking about?’

‘Freddie was poisoned,’ the Voice said. ‘Last night. At the royal wedding.’

They gave him an abbreviated version of events. Freddie’s collapse and confession, the strong evidence linking Moscow to the attack. His brother’s critical status in an intensive care bed, his dire prognosis. Lang listened in stony silence.

‘You’re lying,’ he said after a long pause. ‘Nah, you lot are playing mind games. This is some sick tale you lot have cooked up.’

‘It’s all true,’ Mallet insisted.

‘No. The Russians wouldn’t do that. Not to Freddie. They ain’t got no fucking reason.’

‘We’re not making it up.’ Mallet gestured to Bowman. ‘In fact, Josh was the one who ran to your brother’s aid. He heard Freddie’s confession. Ask him if you don’t believe us.’

‘Bollocks.’

‘It’s the truth,’ Bowman insisted. ‘The Russians got to your brother. Freddie said so himself. Those were his last words. He wanted me to warn you, before you walked into a trap.’

Lang shook his head angrily. ‘It don’t make sense.’

‘We’re just telling you how it is, Davey.’

‘But if they poisoned Freddie, why haven’t I heard nothing?’ Lang jerked his head at the TV. ‘That story is all over the news, but no one’s talking about my brother.’

‘We’ve withheld the victim’s identity,’ the Voice said. ‘We thought you’d want to know from us first.’

‘This isn’t a game,’ Bowman said sincerely. ‘Your brother’s seriously ill, David.’

Lang drew his gaze back to the solemn-faced figures at the table. He saw the sober look in Bowman’s pale grey eyes, and something in him seemed to break. He looked away and fell silent. His lips began to tremble as he stared out of the balcony windows, beyond the terrace, at the forest of ugly high-rise apartments and skyscrapers. The white specks of cruise ships drifted lazily across the rim of the horizon.

‘How is he?’ he asked quietly.

‘There’s no point sugar-coating it,’ Mallet replied bluntly. ‘Freddie’s going to die. It’s going to be a fucking horrible death, he’ll be in a great deal of pain, and you’re next on the Russians’ hit list.’

Lang searched the horizon, squinting, as if looking for answers. ‘It can’t be . . . Why would they do it?’

Mallet said, ‘It’s over, Davey. Your best bet is to come clean and tell us what’s going on.’

Lang stared at the skyline for a few moments. When he slanted his gaze back to the table, the hard lines had returned to his face.

‘Forget it. I ain’t talking to the likes of you.’

‘Don’t be a fool,’ the Voice said over the laptop speaker. ‘The Russians are double-crossing you. They managed to get to your brother at a royal wedding party. They’ll kill you too, if they get the chance. Do you really think they’ll let you walk away from this thing alive? If you tell us what you know, we can help