The Game (Tom Wood) - By Tom Wood Page 0,1

same as they had prior to the acquisition of that knowledge.

The Dutchman’s lack of precautionary measures in his downtime told Victor he hadn’t experienced the same kind of professional learning curve that Victor knew he had mastered by virtue of the fact he was still capable of drawing breath. He wasn’t envious of Kooi’s comparatively charmed existence, because that existence would soon be over.

‘Mister,’ a voice said to Victor in heavily accented English, ‘you buy a watch.’

A young local man stood to Victor’s right, showing his lack of teeth with a wide smile. He wore brightly coloured linens. His black hair jutted out from the top of his skull in unruly clumps. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal skinny forearms ringed by wristwatches, counterfeit unless the man had several hundred thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise weighing him down while not having enough money for a toothbrush.

‘No, thank you,’ Victor said, shaking his head in an exaggerated manner for the kind of emphasis necessary to persuade local traders to try their bartering skills elsewhere.

He didn’t seem to notice. ‘I got for you Tag Hour, Rolax, all the nice ones. Look, look.’

‘No,’ Victor said again, his gaze on Kooi, who had a wooden statuette in each hand and seemed to be deciding on which to purchase. He chose one and handed over some cash for the winning selection. The Dutchman was smiling and nodding, pleased with his purchase or amused by the trader’s rapid-fire overselling. He slipped the statuette into a thigh pocket of his khaki shorts.

‘Look, look,’ the young watch guy said again, about ten decibels louder. He waved his arms in front of Victor’s face.

He gestured with his hands to show he was interested in the watches when his only interest was stopping the local attracting attention. Kooi wouldn’t hear over the din of the market, but he might notice the young man’s waving arms and the shiny watches glinting in the sunlight.

‘That one,’ Victor said, pointing to a Rolex with hands that didn’t sweep.

A toothless grin stretched across the seller’s face and he unclasped the watch while Victor counted out a fair price for it.

‘No, no,’ the young local said, ‘not enough. More. More.’

Victor obliged him with another note, having followed the bartering convention of underpaying. However much he offered the local would want more.

He slipped on his knockoff Rolex and left to follow Kooi, who had extended his lead by another five metres in the interval.

‘Bye, mister,’ the young local called behind him. ‘You have the good day.’

Kooi took his time strolling through the market. He took a circuitous route, but only to make the most of the experience rather than for any tactical consideration. He continued to check his flanks on occasion, but Victor walked directly behind his mark. It would take a one hundred and eighty degree turn for Kooi even to see him – a move that would give Victor plenty of notice not to be there when he did.

Fabric stalls and small stores selling local fashions lined a twisting side street into which Kooi veered. He didn’t stop to examine the wares, but he walked slowly, head rotating back and forth in case anything caught his interest. Victor let the distance between them increase, because now they were out of the main market square the crowd density had dropped by around thirty per cent. Had Kooi been more active in his counter-surveillance, or had he simply walked faster, it would have made Victor’s task more difficult, but even if he did lose him, he knew where the Dutchman was staying.

Kooi was in Algiers for another week based on his flight and accommodation bookings, so there was no time pressure, but Victor would take the first opportunity that presented itself. Regardless of Kooi’s relaxed attitude to his own security, he was a competent professional and therefore a hard target, and there was no guarantee Victor would get more than one chance to see the contract through to completion.

He hadn’t identified a weapon, and Kooi’s khaki shorts and short-sleeved shirt were not conducive to hiding a firearm, but he could easily have a knife in a pocket or in a belt sheath or on the end of a neck cord. Plus, bare hands could be equally deadly if employed correctly.

There were no requirements to the successful completion of the contract beyond Kooi’s death, but Victor preferred not to identify an assassination as one if it could be avoided. He planned to keep it simple –