Shelley knew it, always had done. He took a deep breath. ‘I know, but look, this morning, after the crash at the gates, when you thought Johnson might still be alive, you approached the car even though there was a greater-than-average possibility that the car might be booby-trapped. You remember that?’
‘Of course,’ conceded Bennett.
‘At the time I thought it was a dick move. Stupid and reckless. But the thing is, even though I didn’t approve of it, I understood it. I knew why you had to go out there, even though tactically it was the wrong thing to do.’ And besides, this is Lucy we’re talking about.
‘Even so, Shelley,’ sighed Bennett, ‘I’m not sure I can stand by and watch you do this.’
‘Put it this way: you don’t have any choice.’
‘Why did I have a feeling you were going to say that?’ said Bennett ruefully. He shifted down and floored it, a statement of intent that gave Shelley hope as the city streets flashed past.
CHAPTER 72
SERGEI DROVE THE black Transit, Dmitry at his side with the phone clamped to his ear. His man Bogdan, dispatched to follow Shelley on the trains, had gone offline, much to his irritation. But Albert and Boris, sent to the hospital? Ah, now that was a very different situation indeed.
He came off the phone. ‘Albert and Boris have the girl,’ he told Sergei.
‘It is fortunate that they were able to mobilise so quickly, Dmitry,’ replied Sergei.
Dmitry glanced into the rear of the van, where just one of their men, the Ukrainian, Wladimir, sat silently. He was big and blond and – though known to be a little squeamish when it came to the sight of blood – a man you would want by your side in a fight.
This night had taken its toll on them as an organisation. Dmitry looked across at Sergei. ‘An interesting evening for us, Sergei,’ he said, part statement, part question.
‘Indeed, Dmitry.’
‘We have at least managed to sort a few things out.’
‘Indeed, Dmitry,’ said Sergei. He checked the satnav sucker-stuck to the windscreen. The Chelsea and Westminster Hospital was just a short distance away now.
Dmitry reached into the front of his jeans, drew his pistol and exhaled as though it had been digging into him. He held it in his lap. ‘Sergei,’ he said with a mildly quizzical tone, ‘tell me, were you ever tempted to join with Karen?’
Sergei gave a small chuckle. ‘Certainly not, Dmitry. As you are aware, I came to you the second that her treachery became apparent.’
‘You did, Sergei,’ nodded Dmitry, ‘you did. And for that, you know that you have my eternal gratitude. Who knows? With a less conscientious and loyal lieutenant, perhaps her plan for takeover might even have succeeded.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Sergei.
‘But of course you knew what she could not have known, which is that our friends in Grozny have been tiring of our association with the Regan family. You above all knew that forming an alliance with Karen Regan was suicide.’
Sergei’s jaw tightened. ‘Are you suggesting to me that I exposed the traitor merely out of self-preservation and nothing else, Dmitry?’ He sounded genuinely hurt. ‘Does our friendship mean nothing?’
Dmitry threw back his head and laughed. ‘You made the right decision, Sergei, that is the important thing,’ he said. ‘You may be sure that you will be well rewarded for your loyalty tonight. We all will be. Twenty million in the bank. And not just one, but two of the British Army’s most celebrated SAS operators as a prize. If Alexander is unhappy about the loss – the temporary loss, mind you – of the studios then he will not be for long.’
Sergei was slowing, trying to make sense of a forest of signage at the entrance to the hospital complex, just as Dmitry’s phone rang. It was Boris. He had details of where to come in order to collect the girl.
Yes, it has been an interesting night, thought Dmitry as he relayed directions to Sergei and instructed Wladimir to be ready. However, although everything had gone to plan so far, he had a distinct feeling that the night still had a surprise or two in store.
CHAPTER 73
THE MERCEDES CAME into the entrance road of the hospital and then drew almost to a standstill. ‘Where to now?’ said Bennett, peering in evident confusion at the signs. Shelley, too, leaned forward to gaze through the windscreen. He was about to direct Bennett to the main entrance when he saw it: over to their right, a black Transit van headed across the front of the main building just below them.
Of course. Some kind of rear entrance.
‘Down there,’ he pointed. ‘The van. Do you see it?’
‘Got it,’ said Bennett.
They slipped smoothly down a ramp in pursuit. Shelley drew his SIG, checked the mag, chambered a round. He unclipped his seat belt, ready. Did they already have Lucy? He didn’t know. Was he running right into the trap they had laid for him? He didn’t know that either.
Some way ahead the Transit rounded a corner, taking the service road to the back of the building, just as Shelley had thought.
No, thought Shelley, there was absolutely no point in running right into a trap. He remembered Lucy and the guard in Iraq. They saved lives that day precisely because they didn’t go in all guns blazing.
‘Stop,’ he said.
‘Really?’ But Bennett was already hitting the brakes, ABS bringing them to a fast but steady and, more importantly, quiet stop.
The Transit was out of sight now. ‘What are you—’ started Bennett, but Shelley had already opened the door and stepped out, keeping his SIG low and his target area small as he scuttled along the service road until he reached the corner of the building. He could just about hear Bennett’s harsh, stranded whisper behind him: ‘Shelley, what the fuck are you doing? Shelley? Get your arse back here …’
At the corner he risked a quick look and saw a large, locked roller door, possibly for deliveries – laundry, something like that. Further back was what looked like a fire escape. Near that, the Transit, backed up so that the rear was close to the fire escape. The driver and passenger doors were opening and he pulled back sharply as Sergei and Dmitry both got out at the same time, carrying handguns and checking the coast was clear.
Shelley glanced behind at the Mercedes, where the driver’s door had opened and Bennett was climbing out. Shelley didn’t want Susie left alone but right now he was running out of options. Lucy was the priority. God, I’m sorry, sweetheart, he told her silently, and risked another peek around the wall.
A tall blond guy had clambered out of the back of the Transit. Dmitry ordered him to take up position and watch their rear, while he and Sergei approached the fire escape. At that moment the door opened with a chunky sound, loud in what was otherwise a still night. Framed in the doorway were two men who grumbled and bitched in low voices as they manhandled a body.
Lucy.
Shelley’s breath caught in his chest. Her blonde hair hung over her face. The wound in her thigh was bleeding, blood spreading across the front of her pyjamas. But he was almost certain she wasn’t dead, just stunned. And yes. There. Her eyelids fluttered. Her head lolled as though she was trying to raise it.
Dmitry had his phone to his ear. Shelley wondered what he was doing. Summoning more men perhaps? Demanding some kind of status update?
It occurred to him that if Bennett was right about it being a trap, then the trap required Shelley’s presence, which meant …
Too late, he realised. The call Dmitry was making.
It was to him.
CHAPTER 74
SHELLEY’S HAND SLAPPED at his pocket just as his phone rang and his position was revealed.
He thought fast and decided his only option was to claw back the element of surprise. So as the Chechens reacted, Shelley broke cover.
Bursting forward, he took out the blond guy on the run, his SIG bucking but controlled in his grip as he pumped two shots into the guy’s chest, an instructor-perfect double tap.
The guy staggered, swaying. Beyond him, Sergei and Dmitry both div
ed for cover behind the Transit, Sergei snatching off a shot that went wide, Dmitry screaming something at him in Russian.
The blond guy’s body was still dropping as Shelley passed it. By the fire escape door, the two heavies had finished bundling Lucy into the back of the van, drawn their guns and joined the fight, firing recklessly, seemingly ignoring whatever Dmitry was shrieking at them.
Crack. Thump. Night split by gunfire.
Shelley dropped to one knee. Death was just a blink away but he felt a strange calm, that same mastery of his fear he’d felt at Millharbour kicking in afresh. He squeezed off a shot that took out one of the kidnappers, who dropped with crimson spraying from his throat. Shelley twisted his torso and found the second kidnapper in his sights. This guy had levelled a pistol fitted with a suppressor and was pointing it at him but Shelley stayed calm, found time in the moment, and his aim was true. Another double tap and the Chechen fell.
And then Sergei did what Shelley had feared might happen since the beginning of the firefight. He emerged from the rear of the Transit holding Lucy, who was slumped in his arms, her head swaying gently from side to side as though she were gradually recovering consciousness.
Next Dmitry stepped around from the other side of the van, the third point of the triangle, positioned about halfway between Shelley and Sergei. No doubt Dmitry thought he’d gained the upper hand, but Shelley had two things in his favour. One, he knew the Chechen wanted him alive. Two, Bennett had yet to make his play.
Shelley’s gun was aimed at Sergei, and at this range he knew he could take him out and save Lucy. Not a case of if. Just a case of when.
But then Shelley felt the barrel of a gun at the back of his head.
‘Game’s up, I’m afraid, Shelley,’ said Bennett.
CHAPTER 75
‘DROP YOUR WEAPON,’ said Bennett.
Shelley’s gun was still trained on Sergei, who held Lucy, slumped, her knees bent. ‘I’m not going to do that,’ he replied evenly.
‘I’ll put a hole in your head if you don’t.’
‘Will you indeed? Did you hear that, Dmitry? The ten-million-quid bullet.’
‘Be careful, please, Mr Bennett,’ warned Dmitry.
‘Tell you what, we’ll put a bullet in Lucy instead,’ Bennett called across. ‘Sergei, could you do the honours, please?’
Shelley kept his cool. ‘Do that and the next person to die is you, Sergei. No, I’m sorry, lads, but from where I am it looks like your only option is to put a bullet in me and kiss goodbye to the ten mil. You ready to do that?’
‘Dmitry?’ asked Bennett.
‘Wait,’ said Dmitry.
‘Dmitry,’ urged Bennett, ‘shots have been fired. The cops will be here soon.’
‘You’re ready to do it, are you, Bennett?’ said Shelley. ‘You’d put a round in me, just like that.’
‘It’s nothing personal, Shelley. Never was.’
‘Oh yeah? And you behind it all along, were you, being not-personal all this time?’
‘Not quite,’ said Bennett. ‘Not quite “all along”. I’m afraid I can’t claim credit for the original idea. Would you believe that honour goes to—’
‘Johnson?’ said Shelley.
‘Exactly,’ replied Bennett. ‘He had the right idea.’
‘And Gurney?’
‘Yup. Cooked up a little plan with Gurney and then cooked him out of it. They both had the right idea. Just needed a little finesse, that was all.’
‘Finesse you were able to provide.’
‘Cooked up with my good friends here, yes. I look forward to enjoying preferred fundraiser status with the most powerful criminal organisation in the world. I intend to have a good time with it, Shelley. I’m only sorry that you can’t join me.’ He addressed Dmitry and Sergei: ‘Now, gentlemen, it really won’t be long before the police arrive. Might I suggest we speed things up just a tad?’
‘Then how will I get my money, Mr Bennett?’ said Dmitry. There was a note in his voice that Shelley found intriguing. Did he imagine it, or was Dmitry suspicious of Bennett?
‘Oh, very simple,’ Bennett responded. ‘I have Mrs Drake in the car. Which means that we have no use for Shelley at all. Nor his wife. Put a bullet in her now, Sergei. I’ll do the same over here. Guy Drake will pay up for the return of Susie, and nobody will miss a couple of ex-SAS grunts. Plus you get to impress your friends in Grozny. Oh,’ he said suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to him, ‘don’t forget to film it, Dmitry.’
Shelley knew they were a hair’s breadth from it ending. Bennett making a lot of sense. Opposite he could see that Lucy was still out for the count, though perhaps beginning to regain consciousness.
And then it came to him. The truth. The truth that had been staring him in the face all the time. ‘That’s what you told Dmitry, is it?’ he said to Bennett.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You told him that you were taking over as inside man, is that it? That you could add the finesse, give him everything Johnson was promising and more, right?’
Perhaps Bennett suspected where Shelley was going with this. ‘Shut up, Shelley,’ he ordered. But a note of disquiet in his voice was enough to alert the Chechen boss.
‘Let him speak,’ said Dmitry.
‘Because you know what I think, Bennett?’ continued Shelley.
‘I’m not interested in what you think,’ snapped Bennett. ‘Sergei, we really need to get on with this.’
‘I think that you were always the inside man,’ said Shelley. ‘Just that you offered Johnson up as a patsy to grease the wheels and give everyone a fall guy. But you were always there.’
‘You’re reaching now, my friend. Straws, meet drowning man.’
‘Drake going tonto at the cam house – was that part of the plan?’
‘I had no idea he was going to do that.’
‘Didn’t hurt the cause, though, did it? Tell me, when did the idea first come to you? When you were investigating Emma’s death? You made the connection with the Chechen Mafia way before the cops, right? You knew there was gold in those hills.’
‘Time to stop talking,’ said Bennett.
‘No,’ ordered Dmitry.
‘You just needed an ally. Dmitry, did Bennett come to you, or did he go through Sergei? Think back now …’
‘He came through Sergei,’ said Dmitry slowly. His gaze went to his second in command.
‘And Sergei, you saw your chance, did you?’ said Shelley. ‘What, to avenge your brother Ivan? To do what he had failed to do and stage a takeover? Karen was on the right lines back there, wasn’t she? Just that you weren’t in the market for a partner.’
‘Dmitry, let’s finish this,’ called Sergei from across the way. He was struggling with Lucy, a dead weight.
‘You see, Dmitry, all that housekeeping back in Millharbour? There’s a bit more to come. And you’re it.’
‘Sergei?’ said Dmitry. And while the hint of suspicion in his voice encouraged Shelley, it terrified Sergei.
‘No, Dmitry,’ he said, sounding hurt and slightly panicked at the same time, ‘this is bullshit. We interrogated Johnson, remember? He said nothing about working with others.’
‘Exactly. Don’t listen to him, Dmitry,’ chimed in Bennett. ‘He’s just trying to sow the seeds.’
But Bennett hadn’t witnessed the near coup at Millharbour. Bennett hadn’t heard that note of suspicion in Dmitry’s voice. He didn’t know those seeds had already been sown.
What’s more, Shelley was speaking the truth.
Now he directed himself to Dmitry. ‘This interrogation of Johnson. Did you ask him about his collaborators when you were torturing him?’
‘No, I do not recall that we did,’ replied Dmitry slowly, thoughtfully.
‘That means nothing,’ yelped Sergei indignantly. He was struggling to hold Lucy now. Shelley saw her eyes flicker.
‘Come on, this is all smoke and mirrors, you must see what he’s doing, for fuck’s sake,’ urged B
ennett. ‘Let’s finish this.’
‘No,’ commanded Dmitry.
‘That’s because they wanted you to think he was working alone,’ pressed Shelley, ‘so that Bennett could swoop in with the kidnap idea. That’s how it happened, am I right? Through Sergei again, yes?’
Dmitry nodded.
‘Dmitry, this is lies,’ pleaded Sergei. The most beautiful sight in the world was the sweat that glistened on his forehead.
‘Come on, Dmitry, you can’t seriously believe Bennett just breezed in after Johnson. What did you think was happening? Musical conspirators? You said yourself that Johnson’s plan was short-sighted. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box, but do you really think he was so stupid that he’d come to you with some half-arsed plan to bag an SAS guy? He was a pathfinder put up to it by Bennett. He did the same thing to his other man, Gurney. They were nothing more than a pair of firewalls thrown up to protect himself and avoid suspicion. Worked a bloody treat as well.’
‘This is fiction,’ called Bennett, but he sounded unnerved.
‘Easy for you to be the hero and go to Johnson when you knew the car wasn’t booby-trapped, wasn’t it?’ said Shelley, and then returned his attention to the man on his right. ‘You’ve been played, Dmitry. We all have. How does it feel? Betrayed by your wife and now by your second in command?’
‘This is not true, Dmitry,’ said Sergei, his voice taking on a panicked tone.
In the distance was the sound of approaching sirens. The gun battle was only moments old but the cops were already on their way. Armed cops.
Shelley risked a sideways look at Dmitry, and saw the expression on the Chechen’s face, a mixture of anger and betrayal.
But no surprise.
‘It is true, Sergei,’ said Dmitry. As he spoke he shifted his aim from Shelley to Sergei. ‘You told Karen that you hated your brother. You told me that you hated your brother; that you had only contempt for his actions in Moscow. But you don’t hate your brother, do you, Sergei? You have his picture in your wallet.’
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