Page 118 of Everything That Kills Me
“You managed to get rid of everything but the money. Sooner or later, they’ll link you to your hotel and see the copy of your passport. I have your back story covered but we’d be better to move before the police start asking too many questions.”
“I can hold them off a little longer.”
“Pretend to be weaker than you are. The yacht didn’t sink but it’s a write-off. Five bodies found on board with bullet wounds. All badly damaged by fire and the explosion. The police are still questioning the crew. Those who saw you said you’d not been on the craft before but had come back that evening with Al-Shuaibi. You’re not under suspicion of having done anything other than be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Two contracts?” Jack whispered.
“With different targets.”
Jack shivered. “Me?”
Thomas shook his head. “Owner of the boat. I want to fly you to Switzerland. Some mountain air will do you good. We can get a plastic surgeon to look at your wounds.”
“Zeph’s at the house expecting…”
“No, he’s not. Benoît told him the owner was arriving and he needed to leave. He’s back in the UK. Leave him alone.”
Fuck you.
“I mean it.”
So did Jack.
But he’d not been in a position to do anything. He didn’t need to pretend confusion. His injuries had been extensive. Serious skull fracture. A temporary problem with his hearing and vision. Broken bones and ribs. Damage to his kidneys and his spleen. Cuts and bruises. Significant blood loss. He still had lines going into his veins, a catheter in his cock.
“I have to tell the police something,” Jack said.
“What are you thinking?”
“We met at the Royale. Gambling. Al-Shuaibi took me back to his yacht to play blackjack.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows.
“He said he’d double my winnings. I have money but I couldn’t turn that down. I heard shooting, saw a bodyguard get shot, grabbed my bag and jumped overboard. Must have lost my passport and room key in the sea.”
“Are they going to believe that?”
“No one alive to contradict me.”
“That won’t matter if the police suspect you of planting the bomb. Be careful what you say, okay? Little as possible. When I come back, I’ll get you out of here.”
Jack’s eyes were already starting to close. Exhaustion took him under.
His first thought on waking was that he’d have preferred not to, because everything hurt but the police were there, they knew his name was Sebastian Green and Jack had to talk to them.
He stuck to his story. He didn’t think they’d believed him about the cards but there was nothing illegal about having sex. He told them he had no idea why his passport and hotel key weren’t in his bag, that they must have fallen out into the water. They asked him about the bomb but he played up his bewilderment. Finally, they left him alone.
Then Thomas had rescued him.
Zeph stirred at his side and when he saw Jack, he smiled. Then his face fell. “What are these?” He touched the scars on Jack’s arm.
The Swiss plastic surgeon had redone the French surgeon’s work with micro stitches, although close up, the scars were still there.
“I didn’t notice last night. What exactly did you get caught up in?”
Jack didn’t think it would hurt to tell him. “An explosion.”
“What the fuck?” Zeph hugged him. “How long were you in hospital?”
