I pulled my gun in close, easing open the door, ready. The room was empty and just as I’d last seen it. Even the plug for the circular saw still sat on the workbench where Seb had pulled it from the wall with that smug grin on his face. If only I’d managed to get some information out of him first, I might have been able to find out who his partner in crime was, and wouldn’t be scurrying around the ship like a rat. I was fairly sure Vincent was my man, but it pays to keep an open mind; I needed to catch him red-handed, and planned to do just that.
I closed the door behind me and jogged across to the other side of the room. The engines vibrated through the door as I placed my hand on the wheel. It turned easily, the sound of the engines rose in volume. Again I held my pistol ready, swinging it across the engines and walkway between, but again the room was empty. I stepped forward and looked over the low railing down into the engine bay, both engines were happily chugging away on their own.
I ran to the wall, grabbed a rope, and tied it to the wheel on the workshop side of the door, tying the other end round the pillar drill inside to hold it open. The heavy door pulled the rope taut as the waves pitched us forward and backward, less rolling now as we adjusted our path: on the final run through the Channel now.
I backed away from the bulkhead, across the other side of the room, crouching behind a battered wooden workbench. From here, I was fairly well hidden but could see into the engine room, and if anyone came in the other way, through the hold, I’d know about it.
I pulled in my feet, pushed back as far as I could, cold steel wall pressing my spine, eyes on the walkway in the engine room.
I didn’t have to wait long, no more than a couple of minutes before I heard the loud clunk above the constant thrum of the engines, the metallic thunk of the locks sliding off the engine room door. It creaked as it swung open then grated shut. I pushed back further, pulling my head in and my gun up.
Above the clatter of the diesel engines, I thought I heard someone jump down onto the walkway, I glanced out to see a shadow, the figure was just out of sight. I eased out, pausing as a sweater bobbed into view, then the back of someone’s head, the low-pulled hat obscuring their features. He looked up briefly then knelt, pulling out a knife from his pocket.
I was across the room in an instant, into the doorway before he turned, gun up and on his back.
‘Don’t move, Poubelle,’ I shouted from the doorway.
He froze, hands out.
‘Stand up – slowly – and drop that knife.’ I walked out onto the platform above the engine bay, holding the higher ground.
Poubelle turned slowly, face set in stone as he decided whether to bluff his way out of it or straight out try to kill me. I waved my gun, he dropped the knife with a clatter.
‘Which one of you killed King?’ I shouted.
He narrowed his eyes.
‘Was it you or Sébastien?’
He just stood there, chest rising and falling as he breathed in deeply, clearly furious but refusing to speak, to move, anything.
‘I think it was Seb, but still.’ I smiled. ‘How do you think the rest of the crew will react to you selling them out?’
He twitched, as if he was thinking of making a move, I squeezed the trigger. He ducked, throwing his hands up as the bullet ricocheted off the wall behind him.
‘And when Miller realises you killed my cargo, that you’ve cost the crew thousands.’ I made the same hand motion he and Miller had made. Over the side you go.
‘No, no,’ he spoke for the first time, ‘I didn’t do that, or kill your friend.’
I noticed his pocket was weighed down with something. ‘Take out your gun, slowly, and drop it on the floor.’
The door at the far end opened, I glanced round to see Vincent enter, AK-47 in hand, looking back over his shoulder talking to someone.
‘Check the engine temperature and…’ His eyes went wide as he turned to the room, cig dangling from his mouth.
‘Vincent!’ Poubelle screamed, ‘Il va me tuer.’ He’s going to kill me!
Vincent spun, rifle raised, I kept my pistol on Poubelle.
Nic shuffled into the room, closing the door behind him, then turned. His eyes ballooned as he took in the standoff in front of him.
‘Put it down,’ shouted Vincent, cig hanging from the corner of his mouth.
‘Can’t do that, Vincent,’ I said. ‘This is our saboteur. He was about to kill the engines.’
‘I found him in here!’ shouted Poubelle. ‘He’s going to kill us all.’
Nic finally found his voice, but unfortunately used it for the wrong purpose, face breaking into a smile as he realised he could get his revenge for the earlier kicking. ‘Shoot the bastard, we’ll throw him overboard.’
Vincent jabbed the rifle forward. ‘Gun down or I blow your head all over the wall.’
I’d no doubt he would, he already didn’t like or trust me.
‘Do it, do it now,’ Poubelle said. ‘He was going to shoot me, he killed Seb!’
Nic nodded. ‘Do it.’
‘Three,’ said Vincent.
I breathed in deeply, not taking my eyes off Poubelle.
‘Two,’ Vincent steadied the rifle in my peripheral vision, I briefly wondered how quickly I could spin my gun onto him. Not quickly enough, he was itching to shoot.
‘One,’ I could hear the intake of breath as he finished counting.
I dropped, his rifle erupted, a bullet hit the wall behind me.
‘All right, all right,’ I dropped my gun and held my hands up.
Vincent kept the rifle straight at me. ‘Don’t move,’ he said.
‘Shoot him!’ screamed Poubelle. ‘You know he wants to kill us all.’
‘Listen to me, Vincent,’ I spoke slowly. ‘I know you’re looking for a reason to shoot, but…’
‘Shut up.’
‘Get the captain down here,’ I nodded at the intercom on the wall to the side of the door. ‘He’ll tell you it’s this traitorous bastard you wanna throw over the side.’
‘Shoot him,’ hissed Nic.
Vincent crept his hand towards the intercom but Nic was in his way. He couldn’t call the captain without taking his eyes off me and he knew it.
Finally he worked out a compromise and waved his rifle. ‘Kick your gun over the edge,’ he said, shuffling forward. ‘Now!’
It was that or Nic and Poubelle would have their way. I gave the gun a tap with my toe, it dropped off the platform onto the walkway. ‘Now get the captain down here.’
He nodded slowly, leaning the rifle on the railing, still pointed at me, other hand crawling along the wall until it found the intercom. Nic looked disappointed as Vincent crept his fingers around the switch, eyes not wavering from me, rifle rock-steady. In my peripheral vision, Poubelle twitched.
The door opened again, knocking Nic forward, Vincent glanced round as Fields stepped onto the platform.
‘Look out!’ I shouted.
A gunshot echoed around the room, smothered by the engines. Too late, Vincent’s eyes went wide as the white painted steel wall behind him was redecorated red. Fields scrabbled at his holster, pulling his Glock. Before he could raise it another two gunshots cracked, Fields jerked, dropping the pistol and staggering back against the door, slamming it shut. Vincent’s rifle clattered down to the walkway between the engines, his body finally slumped over the railings and dropped after it. Fields left a trail of red down the door as he slid, eyes on me, asking me what was going on.
Poubelle was already turning to me, revolver in hand. I leapt backwards before Vincent’s body even hit the floor, diving back through the open doorway into the workshop.
Bullets smacked the bulkhead, bouncing around the walls like angry hornets as I ducked and rolled across the workshop floor. I glanced back, saw Poubelle had now picked up Vincent’s rifle and was lined up in the middle of the engine bay, just his face and the gun barrel visible. Behind him, Nic cowered behind Fields, pressing himself against the door.
Poubelle turned his back to me, bringing the rifle to his shoulder, levelling it at Nic, the only remaining witness to his treachery. I leapt to my feet, grabbing for the tools, launching a spanner through the doorway at the back of Poubelle’s head. It struck as he squeezed the trigger. The bullets went wide, Nic screamed and ducked as they ricocheted around him.
‘Get the gun,’ I yelled to Nic, pointing at Fields’ Glock.
Poubelle ducked and spun, squeezing the trigger again as I dived sideways. I rolled to one side of the door, the bullet smacked harmlessly into the wooden tool board across the far wall, sending tools flying across the floor.
Boots clanged on the walkway then the ladder on the other side of the bulkhead, I looked round frantically for anything within reach. The crowbar I’d used earlier to lock the door shut. I reached for it just as the gun appeared in the doorway.
I ducked, swinging my arm through a wide arc to get plenty behind it. Poubelle fired, the bullet missed my head by a centimetre as the crowbar found its target, catching him across the knees. He grunted, stumbled backwards, I leapt forward, closing the distance, reaching for his gun. He snarled, whipping a fist round. It caught me on the shoulder, I turned into it as I pushed his arm up with both hands, putting the barrel of that rifle out of my way.
Poubelle brought his fist round again but it never made it as I brought up a knee into his stomach, still pushing, forcing him back through the doorway. He tripped over the high threshold. I followed him through, pushing him over. He started to drop back but swept out a foot, catching my knee, slamming my leg sideways into the frame. I stumbled, still gripping his gun with both hands, pushing forward, and let my weight drop against him, toppling his already unbalanced stance.
Poubelle fell back against the railing, I dropped onto him, face inches from his. Before he could recover I pulled my head down sharply, feeling the cartilage of his nose pop against my forehead. He grunted and went limp. I let go of his arm, moving back and lashing out rapidly, one two, both blows thumping into his chest. His arm came down, the rifle swung, but I was too close for him to bring it to bear. I took a heartbeat to steady myself then landed a perfect right-hander under his already outstretched chin, sending him flying backwards over the railing.
He didn’t have far to fall, there was a dull thud and another grunt of pain as he bounced off the top of the starboard engine. He somehow landed on his feet and brought his arm round, still holding the rifle, waving it in my general direction. I put two hands on the railing and vaulted over, feet outstretched, landing them in his chest. He flew backwards, dropping the rifle. I hit the walkway and rolled across into the port side engine, springing up onto my feet and looking for my gun, his gun, any weapon.
Over on the other side of the room, Poubelle groaned and got his hands beneath him. On the platform behind him Nic still hid under Fields’ body, making no attempt to intervene. Poubelle scrabbled for the rifle, I grabbed the rungs of the ladder and hauled myself up just as a bullet hit the wall. I scrambled over the platform, jumping through the doorway with gunshots chasing me back into the workshop.
Bullets punched the paintwork across the ceiling, bouncing around the workshop as I crouched, running for the door at the far side.
I gripped the wheel and turned, the levers groaned off their stops, I heaved the door open.
The clatter of the AK-47 stopped, I turned to see Poubelle stood in the middle of the walkway, still squinting down the rifle, then looking up as he realised the gun was dry. I paused, about to rush back to finish him, then looked at the platform just behind him, at Fields’ pistol still sat next to the railing. Poubelle looked round at the same time, dropping the rifle and reaching for the Glock.
A bullet hit the door as I sprinted through the forward corridor towards the hold, grabbing the handle to the next door. Another bullet hit the bulkhead next to me, I pressed in hard against the door as I fought with the stiff mechanism.
There was a bang from the engine room, not a gunshot, it’d come from the engines themselves. The vibrations underfoot changed, the ship rocked over to one side. He’d taken out one of the engines. The handle finally gave, I launched through onto the platform overlooking the hold, fighting to close the door behind me.
Another bang came from the engine room. The ship groaned and shuddered, suddenly pitching forward then rolling sharply over to the side again, throwing me off my feet and across the platform. My head bounced off the railings, forcing my eyes shut. I wrapped my hands over my head and let out a groan of pain into my arms. My hands were wet, warm and sticky.
Only the crashing of the waves now, slamming the empty hold and echoing around the metal walls but, crucially, no other sound. He’d achieved his goal, killing both engines.
I grabbed the railing and climbed to my feet, shaking the bright lights from behind my eyes. I had to shut that door.
Too late, I could hear boots as Poubelle stormed along the passageway towards me. He saw me and fired.
I ducked to the side, trying to swing the door shut but a bullet buzzed through the gap, tearing through my trousers. Poubelle slammed against the other side of the door, jamming a heavy steel toe-capped boot into the gap. The pistol stuck round the frame, he squeezed the trigger, waving it around. The ship shuddered from bow to stern, rolling to starboard, shrieking like a wounded fox, I heard the rush of water behind me as waves cascaded through the forward hatch.
I stumbled back against the railings, the door in front of me flew open.
Poubelle brought the gun up, level with my head. His face contorted into a grin as his finger twitched on the trigger. ‘You know, I should leave you for them to deal with when they get here.’
Gunshots exploded in rapid succession, I ducked as crimson flowers bloomed across Poubelle’s shirt. His eyes narrowed in confusion then glazed over as he stumbled back into the passageway, dropping the Glock and slumping down the wall. He stopped twitching and came to rest in a heap in the doorway.
I turned to see Marty in the waterfall of the forward hatch, clinging to the top of the ladder. One arm was wrapped through the rungs, the other held her Walther pistol outstretched into space.
‘You took your bloody time,’ I said.
Chapter Fifty-one
Tiburon
I ran back through the workshop, dropping down into the engine bay, sprinting for the platform at the other side. Fields’ breathing was shallow, eyes rolled back, chest moving only slightly, but he was alive.
I climbed up onto the platform and knelt to unzip his fleece. One of the holes was immediately visible, straight through his right side and through his lung by the sound of it. The other hole was further up, near the middle of his chest, and the way it was pumping out blood told me there wasn’t much could be done.
I put a hand over each anyway but could feel his pulse weakening. He opened his mouth to talk but only blood trickled out, sucked into his lung and then spat down his cheek as he spluttered dying breaths.
I glanced round to Marty, running her hand over the dead engines.
‘Get help,’ I said. ‘Get the others.’
The door flew open, Miller and Katanga pushed into the room.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ shouted Miller when he saw the carnage. ‘Kat, get the engines restarted, quickly.’
Nic lurked in the doorway as Katanga leapt down the ladder.
Miller followed him down. ‘Didn’t think we’d be seeing the mermaid so soon,’ he said to Marty as he crouched by Vincent’s body, holding his fingers to his throat.
Doc pushed past Nic and bent down, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I looked up at him. ‘Get your gear, Doc, fast!’
He shook his head. ‘He’s dead, Tyler.’
I looked down and saw Fields’ chest was no longer moving under my hands. I moved them away, no more blood flowed from the wounds, he’d all but run out.
I leaned forward, head in my hands.
Marty crouched to look at him impassively. ‘I
thought you wanted him dead?’
‘Not like this, not…’
Truth is, I had wanted Fields dead, the only reason I’d hired him was to ensure the bastard never reached England.
I stood and wiped my hands on my trousers, sighing, shaking my head. It was meant to feel good, wasn’t it, revenge? After all this time?
Why didn’t it?
Chapter Fifty-two
Céligny, Lake Geneva
Yesterday afternoon
Daylight had been creeping through the pines behind Ringo’s house as I’d pulled into his garage. Now shadows were creeping the other way as the orange sky darkened. I’d left the two captives in the car as I’d slept late, then woke to eat him out of biscuits. Now, as the sun dropped again over the distant peaks, I stood in the garage, sipping my tea and looking at the two unconscious bodies in the open boot of my car. The fitness app on my phone still showed a steady heartbeat, and since I’d sedated the two of them at the same time, that was good news.
Business was clearly booming for the mercenary we’d called Ringo. His place in Céligny was small but nice and private, with a view of Lake Geneva if you squinted between rooftops and trees below. It wasn’t to my taste, all concrete and glass, but kudos to him for being able to afford anything round here. That an ex-Marine like Ringo could, told me he was into some seriously bad shit somewhere.
I was still thinking of him as Ringo even though I’d known his real identity all along. David Fraser had been contracted to a Belgian-based private security firm, but often took freelance work if the money was right. On this job I’d made sure the money was right – even offering up half my fee to get him to join the team. He seemed both capable and willing enough. We’d established he was an explosives expert, which had been of no use on this job, and sadly that seemed to be the extent of his skills. His skiing ability had been an unexpected bonus, but otherwise he was no more than an extra pair of hands – or an extra gun – for the right sort of jobs.
I hadn’t needed him at all. I’d wanted him.
I took a mouthful of tea as the last of the red faded from the sky, turning deep blue. No more snow forecast, an easy run to La Rochelle. I put the tea down on the workbench and looked at my watch: five p.m. The rendezvous at the port was scheduled for 2:30 a.m. and it was an eight-hour drive. I’d already changed onto my third set of fake numberplates. Piles of screwed-up black self-adhesive vinyl sat in the corner of the garage where I’d peeled it from every panel of my car, revealing its original shining metallic grey colour underneath. Didn’t want to make things too easy for any pursuers, who were out there somewhere, watching and waiting.
Black Run Page 25