Temple of the Gods - Andy McDermott [20]
In return Eddie had provided Alderley with what information he had uncovered on his travels, and was hoping he had managed to do something useful with it. ‘What’ve you got?’
‘First thing: Interpol is getting closer to you. They know you were just in Botswana.’
‘Do they know where I am now?’
‘No, but if I were you I’d move on. Sharpish.’
‘That’s the plan anyway – I’m just waiting to find out where to go. What else?’
‘That paper you found in Jindal’s flat, the one with a number and some Hindi text. I’ve had it checked out – on the quiet, obviously, which is why it took so long. The number could mean anything, of course, but my best guess is the international code for a Greek phone number.’
‘Greek?’ Eddie was surprised. He couldn’t imagine any possible link between Kit and Greece.
‘Yeah. I tried ringing it, but it’s a dead number. The thing is, though, the text with it translates as “and the best of the greatest”. I think what we’ve got here is a fairly simple code. The “best of the greatest” is probably another number, so if you add that to the one you already have, you get the real result.’
‘So what’s the other number?’
‘Damned if I know. Something significant to Jindal, at a guess. You knew him far better than I did – any idea what it might be?’
Eddie thought about Kit. Youthful, handsome, an idealistic Indian cop who had specialised in the investigation of art thefts before transferring to Interpol to do the same thing in a worldwide jurisdiction. Cheery and good-natured but with steely determination behind his smile, a cricket fan, a Hindu, not as stylish a dresser as he thought he was. A friend.
A friend who had killed another friend in cold blood. Eddie hadn’t witnessed it personally, but when he pieced together everything seen by others there was only one possible conclusion.
Kit had murdered Mac in order to let Stikes escape from El Dorado. He had shot the elderly Scot twice in the back and left him to die.
What Eddie couldn’t fathom was why. Why had the Interpol officer suddenly turned against his friends and the law he had pledged to uphold? Why had he struck a deal with Stikes, a man who just days earlier had tortured him? Blackmail? Brainwashing? Eddie didn’t know.
And Stikes wasn’t the only one of Eddie’s enemies with whom Kit was involved. When Eddie confronted him at the pumping station, he had found not only Kit making a deal with Stikes, but also someone he thought was dead. His ex-wife, Sophia Blackwood. Aristocrat, murderer, terrorist . . . and seemingly in charge, negotiating with the mercenary and giving Kit orders.
Eddie couldn’t reconcile the friend he thought he knew with the man who had tried to kill him. The contradictions made it impossible for him to get a handle on Kit’s thought processes. ‘I dunno,’ he told Alderley at last. ‘I just don’t know.’
‘Well, keep thinking about it. Maybe you’ll come up with something. I’ll have another poke through Interpol’s file on him to see if anything suggests itself.’
‘Just don’t attract any attention. If you get busted, it’ll make it a real pain in the arse for me to stay ahead of the cops.’
‘Glad you’ve got my best interests at heart,’ Alderley snarked. ‘But I want to know what happened as much as you do. If I find out something new, I’ll be in touch – and you do the same if you hear anything.’
‘Will do. And . . . thanks.’
‘I can’t exactly say it’s my pleasure, for all sorts of reasons, but I appreciate hearing that. Don’t get caught, okay?’
Alderley disconnected. Eddie put down the phone, then tapped the growing length of ash from the end of his cigarette and took a drag. The best of the greatest. But who or what was the greatest in Kit’s mind?
He thought