“No, he didn’t.”
“Then he hasn’t changed.”
Nash could only imagine what torment his friend had gone through in recent weeks. Having an estranged father was one thing, but having an estranged father who had created his own private army, infiltrated espionage organisations across the globe and orchestrated the murders of hundreds was quite another.
Nash swished the remainder of his beer around the bottom of his pint glass. “Given what’s about to happen, how are you going to feel if we get ourselves into a him or us situation?”
“Mason, my friend,” Paul looked Nash in the eye, ensuring he had his full attention, “I think we’ve been there for some time now. Will I relish it? No, of course I won’t. But what we’re trying to achieve here is far too important for my personal feelings to matter.”
“They do matter.” Nash placed his hand over Paul’s.
“Thank you, I appreciate it, I really do.” Paul gave a close approximation of a genuine smile. “But the fact remains, we have to end this. He’s one of the most dangerous men on the planet right now. We can’t let him win. Under any circumstances.” He shook his head, then finished his pint. “We make our stand here. History has shown time and time again that power should never rest in the hands of any one individual. No matter what my connection to Ramsay Cavendish is, he must be stopped, and that’s exactly what we’ll do.” He slammed his empty glass down like a violent full stop. “Another?”
“Please.”
Watching Paul order another round, Nash understood it wasn’t as black and white as his friend was trying to make out. Family never was, especially not Paul’s. Regardless of his friend’s consummate professionalism and unflappability, the coming battle was going to be difficult for him. Nash would do his best to protect his friend from coming into orbit of his father, but given the unpredictability of their plan, nothing could be guaranteed.
As Paul chatted amiably with Denise at the bar, someone else entered. Somewhere in her thirties, Lila Pickford was exactly as Nash remembered, wide-eyed and full of energy. She greeted Denise warmly and placed her bag and coat behind the bar, readying herself for the evening shift at the pub. Nash had only spoken to her once properly, and the two had semi-flirted, but then he’d been attacked soon after. Nothing quells a budding romance like gunplay and death.
Lila froze mid-sentence when she saw Nash sitting at the table. With eyes wide, she did her best to recover, but it was obvious she was rattled by his presence. Nash didn’t blame her. The last time she’d seen him she’d been shot at and nearly died. He’d reluctantly killed the assassins, an act no civilian should ever be forced to witness. Doing the only thing he could think of, Nash gave her an apologetic wave. She blushingly waved back before turning her attention to preparing cutlery for the evening’s dinner rush.
Returning to the table, Paul caught the exchange. “Wasn’t she the waitress the night you met Tartarus?”
“Good memory.”
“MI6 don’t pay me for my pretty face.” Paul set down the beers.
“Thank Christ for that.”
They both chuckled, and for a moment Nash forgot the troubles of the world. It was unfortunate how fleeting that moment was.
Nash asked, “How’s Nancy doing with all this? It has to be tough on her. This isn’t her bag, and she’s been dragged away from everything she knows.”
Taking a contemplative sip, Paul said, “This is going to sound odd, but I think this has been good for us.”
“That does sound odd.”
“We’d both been so occupied with our own careers, moving house and everything else life throws at you, we’d neglected us. This kind of forced us together—no, that’s the wrong word. It brought us together without distraction, and we reconnected. It’s been amazing.”
“You’ve been having loads of sex is what you’re saying?”
“Not just that.” Paul hid his amusement behind his pint glass. “But yes, quite a bit of that too.” Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Speaking of, what’s the deal with you and Sophia? You seem chummy again. I always said you were an idiot for letting her go.”
Paul knew all about Nash’s history with Sophia and had even run interference when MI6 raised concerns about a member of their esteemed organisation being in a relationship with someone from the DGSE. He’d made their concerns disappear, an act Nash was forever thankful for.
“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure.” Nash took a sip of his Newcastle Brown and waited an appropriate amount of time before adding, “By the way, she told me we have a daughter.”
Paul performed a spit-take worthy of a silent movie star. “You fucking what?”
Amused at his friend’s reaction, Nash filled him in. Oddly, the more people he told, the more used to the idea he became. The two kicked the subject around for a while, Paul asking countless questions. There seemed to be a topic Paul was itching to discuss but was reluctant to do so.
Taking the news onboard, Paul leaned forward. “Do me a favour, would you?”
“Anything.”
“Promise to be a better father than the shitemonsters we called dad, yeah?”
Nash lifted his glass. “I’ll do my best.”
Paul’s face didn’t reflect the humour of Nash’s. “I said promise, not say you’ll try.” Paul gripped his arm. “I’ve known you long enough to know that when you promise, you keep your word or die trying. Promise me or don’t, just don’t bullshit me.”
“I promise, Paul.”
“Jesus,” Paul waved a dismissive hand, “don’t get all mushy.”
Nash laughed, something that had been a rarity of late. It was a nice moment. It didn’t last. Paul turned suddenly serious.
“Is this plan of yours going to work?”
“It has to, doesn’t it?”
Before he could answer, the rest of their ragtag team surged through the doors. And what a team it was Eva, Bishop, Nancy, Harry, Sophia, Harry and Hawk. In spite of the circumstances, Nash’s heart surged with affection for his friends. They all represented different aspects of his life and he would gladly give his life for any of them.
The sudden arrival of so many bodies invigorated the pub. The camaraderie and playful needling provided an energy that had been absent mere moments before. Sophia in particular took in the surrounds. She appeared to like what she saw.
The group arranged themselves, moving tables together to accommodate their number. Bishop with his plaster cast and crutches was placed at the end of the table. Eva manoeuvred herself next to him, ever ready to assist in any way she could. Whether by design or fluke, Sophia sat next to Nash. Further rounds were bought and in no time they were acting like a rowdy group of friends instead of an elite selection of trained professionals on the eve of the most important mission of their lives.
Lila came to take their dinner orders and was far more relaxed than when Nash had first seen her. Hawk’s presence helped, as he was a known local and engaged in familiar chit-chat, putting her more at ease.
