The Increment by Chris Ryan

whole years could go by without anyone ever disagreeing with them.
There was a pause, but Matt couldn't read it. Then Lacrierre said: 'Who is he?'
They actually like it when someone stands up to them, noted Matt.
'Irish fellow,' says Matt. 'Called Ivan. He's blown up more buildings than you've had croissants for breakfast. Don't worry, you'll like him.'
Lacrierre stood up. 'Orlena will check him out, but if it's all right with her then he's on the team.' He stopped, resting his hand on Matt's forearm. 'I've got a busy day, so I'm going to leave you and Orlena to sort out the details. Your friend will be paid, of course, and paid well. Tocah looks after its people.'
Matt nodded. 'In that case, we'll get along just fine.'
Lacrierre started to open the door, then looked back at Matt. 'I'm going to trust you on this, Matt,' he said. 'But I want you to know one thing. This organisation is not so different from your regiment. We are generous with our friends, but ruthless with our enemies.'
Matt could hear the door shutting behind him. He looked around to see Orlena sitting on the edge of the desk, tightening her skirt over her legs so that no knee was revealed. 'OK, when do we start?' he said.
'Right away, of course,' answered Orlena, sliding off the desk. 'We leave for Kiev the day after tomorrow. Once we're there, I can introduce you to the man who will start assembling the team. This factory needs to be dealt with as quickly as possible.'
Matt grinned, noticing for the first time the way her eyelashes flicked as she concentrated, and the way her skin bunched up around her cheeks as she smiled.
'I'll start packing. Let's hope it's a bit cooler in Kiev. I don't think I can take much more of this summer.'
Orlena stepped towards the door. 'Actually, the Ukraine has hot summers. Most Europeans think it snows all the time.'
'Don't worry,' said Matt. 'I can handle whatever heat you throw at me.'
Her expression changed. 'Let me get one thing straight. I never sleep with anyone who works for me. So don't even think about it.'
'I'm freelance,' said Matt coldly. 'I'm not working for you, and I'm not sleeping with you either.'
'You're a proud man, Mr Browning,' said Orlena, walking out into the brightly lit corridor.

SIX
The smell of old papers drifted from the room, mixing with the distinctive aroma of disinfectants and overboiled potatoes that filled the corridors. I can think of nicer places to work, thought Matt as he walked down the corridor of the Charing Cross Hospital. Each room was marked by a stencilled nameplate, and most seemed to be shut. For the twenty yards of corridor that stretched out in front of him, he couldn't see a single person.
'Hi,' said Matt, leaning against the doorway that led into her small, cramped office. 'You home?'
Eleanor looked round, pushing her hair back from her face. At her side, the pile of papers stacked up next to her laptop wobbled precariously, and her elbow only narrowly missed the coffee cup balanced next to it as she swung round in her swivel chair. Maybe it's her mind that's organised, thought Matt. Something has to be.
'Thanks for coming,' she said, standing up.
She looked different from the last time he'd seen her. The grief had drained out of her, replaced by an iron determination. She was wearing black slacks and a blue blouse, with just enough make-up to take away the rough edge of the morning.
'You wanted to talk,' said Matt, stepping inside.
'Not here,' said Eleanor. 'There's a coffee bar across the street.'
The Café Rouge on the Fulham Palace Road was almost empty at this time of the morning. A waitress was sitting over a coffee in the corner, reading a magazine. Matt could see Eleanor was looking around, her eyes darting over the room, as if scanning for some hidden danger.
Whatever she wants to tell me, it's clearly rattled her.
'I'm sorry,' she said, taking the coffee the waitress put in front of her. 'I've been really on edge since Ken died.'
If my brother turned into a killer,