Free The Black Sun by James Twining Page B

gunshot. The seconds ticked by, then turned into minutes. This was going better than any of them had expected.
    The radio crackled into life. “Sir, this is Vasquez . . . There’s nobody here.”
    Viggiano pulled himself up into a crouching position and grabbed the radio. “Say again?”
    “I said there’s nobody here. The place is empty. We searched every room, including the attic. It’s deserted and it looks like they left in a hurry. There’s half-eaten food on the table. The whole fucking place stinks.”
    Bailey swapped a confused look with Viggiano and then with Hennessy, who looked genuinely concerned.
    “There must be someone there, Vasquez. I’m coming down,” Viggiano said.
    “Negative, sir. Not until we’ve secured the whole area.”
    “I said, I’m coming down. You and your men stay put till I arrive. I want to see this for myself.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    BLOOMSBURY, LONDON
    January 5—9:29 p.m.
    Coffee?” “I need a drink.” Tom went to the decanter on the side table and poured himself a large glass of cognac. He took a mouthful, swilling it around before swallowing it, and then sat down heavily in one of the armchairs and glanced around him. This was only the second time he’d been to Archie’s place. It was a realization that brought home to Tom how little he knew about his partner—who he was, what his passions were, where his secrets lay—although he now saw that, after the evening’s revelations, he could say the same of Dominique. Perhaps that said more about him than either of them.
    Despite this, he was able to detect in the room itself some hints of Archie’s character. Immediately apparent, for example, was his love of Art Deco, as evidenced by the Emile-Jacques Ruhlmann furniture and the various pieces of Marinot glassware that adorned the mantelpiece. And a collection of Edwardian gaming chips displayed in two framed cases on either side of the door betrayed his fascination with gambling. More intriguing was the teak coffee table, which Tom immediately identified as a late nineteenth-century Chinese
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    opium bed. The brass fittings around its edge would once have housed bamboo poles to support a silk canopy that preserved its occupant’s anonymity.
    “Sorry about your game,” Tom said, his gaze returning to Archie as he settled into the chair opposite him.
    “Don’t worry.” Archie dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. “I was losing anyway. Is she all right?” He tilted his head in the direction of the closed bathroom door in the hallway.
    “She’ll be fine,” Tom said. If what he had learned about Dominique’s past had confirmed anything, it was her ability to tough it out.
    “What the hell happened?” Tom handed him the rolled-up canvas. “What’s this?”
    “Take a look.” Archie unscrolled the painting on the coffee table. He looked up in surprise. “It’s the Bellak from Prague.” Tom nodded. “Where did you find it?” Archie ran his hands gently over the painting’s cracked surface, his fingers brushing against the ridges in the oil paint, pausing over a series of small holes that punctured its surface.
    “It was a gift. Somebody kindly left it in my freezer.” “In your what?” Archie wrinkled his forehead as if he
    hadn’t heard properly. “In my freezer. And it wasn’t the only thing they left.” Archie shook his head. “I’m not sure I even want to
    know.” “There was a human arm in there too. In fact, come to think of it, it’s still in there.”
    For once, Archie was speechless, his eyes bulging in disbelief. When he did manage to get a word out, it was in a strangled, almost angry voice.
    “Turnbull.” “What?” “It’s that two-faced bastard Turnbull.” Tom laughed. “Come on, Archie. You said he checked
    out.” “He did. At least according to my contact. MI6, originally 74 james twining
    on the Russian desk at GCHQ. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. Think about it. He shows up wanting