Miller stepped out onto the bridge wing. ‘So I hate to keep asking, but…’
I leaned back on the railings. ‘I’ve transferred the rest of the fee, including that bonus. Sorry about Vincent. Not Seb or Poubelle, but…’ I shrugged.
‘Wasn’t you that killed him,’ he said matter-of-factly.
Something caught my eye, I instantly went for my pistol but I was jumpy, it was just a dinghy bobbing in the water.
‘Don’t forget these,’ said Doc with a sad smile as he pushed outside, holding out a pack of diamorphine.
I took it, looking past him as the dinghy floated through the glow from the work lamps on the deck. I was slow to realise it wasn’t a dinghy, it was a jet ski.
Doc pushed me out of the way as gunfire tore the night air, I slammed against the railings and dropped. Bullets bounced against steel, glass shattered, everyone started shouting at once.
I rolled over, reaching underneath me, pulling out my pistol with my left hand, then quickly crawled backwards as bullets ripped through the steel mesh walkway, sparks flew, more glass rained down from the shattered bridge windows.
A shadow flashed behind the lifeboat davits at the stern, I fired several times then jumped up. Gunfire opened up again, I pocketed my gun and vaulted the railings, pushing off the top and leaping for the lifeboat.
I landed heavily, rolling across the tarp stretched across it, grabbing the edge with both hands and swinging off the other side, down under it. Both feet collided with Branko’s huge back.
He grunted, stumbled forward, dropping his pistol. I pulled out mine, fumbling it in my bandaged hand and switching to my left. A gunshot exploded from somewhere above, I ducked, another crack and a second bullet ricocheted off the deck next to me. I turned to Branko in time to see a boot coming at my face. I took it across my back as I turned into him, using my momentum to knock him off balance. I brought my arm around to fire, a third gunshot cracked, I dropped to the deck and rolled away beneath the davits, looking up at a shadow sprinting along the harbour wall.
‘Marty!’ I yelled. ‘It’s me, for fuck’s sake!’
She paused, crouched down behind the wall. ‘Where is he?’ she shouted.
I looked back, Branko had disappeared. ‘He’s gone forward, get round the other side!’
She ran away along the harbour wall. I jumped up, running forward. Above me, Miller was shouting instructions to his crew, Doc had disappeared.
I slammed against the superstructure, panting, switching my pistol back into my damaged hand and pressing the magazine release. It slid out, dropping to the deck while I fished out my last loaded mag with my good hand. Wrong one, I’d pulled out the empty mag I’d used on Doc. I reached back into my pocket as something flitted in the corner of my eye, I turned in time to see Branko launching from the shadows.
I ducked as a boathook smashed against the wall. I rolled, fumbling the pistol, still trying to pull out the last magazine. Branko chased me across the deck, swiping the big spiked pole after me, I rolled again, jumping to my feet just as he kicked out, it missed but his follow-up with the boathook didn’t, he was lightning fast for a big fella. I stumbled, gritting my teeth and nursing my hand as my pistol spun away into the darkness. Branko grinned, raising the pole above his head, swinging round again. I dodged, letting the pole swoosh past then grabbing for it, using his momentum against him, trying to snatch it from his hands. I failed to get it off him, but as he yanked me forward I held on then jumped, kicking the pole sideways with both feet and letting go. I crashed to the deck, satisfied as I saw the boathook wrenched from his hands, sailing over the stern into space.
I crawled backwards, beneath the empty lifeboat davit. He was powering towards me, arms up. Unfortunate for him, since he hadn’t seen what I had.
My fingers closed around a rope. It was tied off to a cleat welded into the deck, up into the davits, and back down to a heavy-looking hook bigger than Branko’s head, suspended a few metres above the deck. That’d cave in anyone’s skull, giant or not. I unhooked a loop of rope from the cleat and held on to it as Branko charged.
The deck shifted as a heavy vibration thundered through the ship, Miller was preparing to cut and run. I let go of the rope, it hissed through the pulley, the hook dropped towards Branko’s head. He staggered with the sudden motion of the ship, the hook slammed to the deck harmlessly in front of him. He smiled and placed a massive boot on it, kicking out, sliding it towards me as if it were a football. It skittered across the slippery steel, hitting the gunwale next to my head.
Branko towered above me, silhouetted in the lights from the superstructure. Above him I could see people moving around on the bridge wing, I willed one of them to turn, to shoot the bastard in the back, but down here we were all but invisible to them.
I grabbed the rope and rolled away, leaping to my feet. The end was still tied in a heavy loop, I spun it round and flicked it towards him, stopping him in his tracks. He weaved side to side as I whipped the rope round to keep him at bay, scanning the deck for a better weapon, preferably one of our pistols.
We circled, every muscle tensed and ready, trying to anticipate each other’s next move, all the while I could hear sirens growing in the distance. Behind him lights had come on in several buildings over the other side of the creek. The deck was shuddering as the engines reached full power, the creek churned below as the ship began to chew itself backwards. Branko bobbed and swayed with the motion of the ship, like a viper looking for an opportunity to strike.
Shadows tracked across us as the ship moved through the amber beam of a streetlight in the car park and there, not a metre from Branko’s boot, was the instant game-stopper I was looking for: his glinting Desert Eagle. A poker player I am not: he saw my eyes drawn to it, looked down, lips curling up in a cross between a snarl and a grin.
He moved sideways, I whipped the rope round at his head. He paused, forced to duck and dodge the heavy rope, then spun, leg up, another kick to push me back. I blocked it easily, left forearm slamming his shin and flicking round behind it to grab his calf, trying to get him off balance. It worked, briefly, preventing him reaching down for the pistol, but with twice my mass and power there wasn’t much more I could do. With my right hand I punched his outstretched thigh, the spot I’d stabbed him earlier, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. For a split second I thought about going for a kick of my own between his legs, but by this stage I wasn’t even sure he was human, and it would have put me within range of those huge paws. Instead I let go, slipping the loop of rope around his boot like a noose, pulling it tight as I let myself fall to the deck.
I rolled backwards and sprang back onto my feet, pulling the rope tighter. No chance, he laughed as his massive foot slid no more than an inch across the deck.
He bent to untangle himself from the rope. I took the opportunity to run for the stern of the ship, sliding onto my knees and grabbing the big iron hook. He saw what I was doing and lurched towards me but too late, I heaved the huge lump of metal onto the gunwale, then dropped it over the back of the ship.
The rope slithered across the deck, he watched with delayed reactions, eyes growing wider as the rope writhed. He panicked, bending down again, fingers scrabbling at the knot, but too late, the rope snapped taut. His boot was plucked from the deck as the rope stretched over the railings and down to the heavy iron hook under the surface.
He slid slowly sideways as the rope pulled on him, leg outstretched like a pose from a martial arts film. I was about to go in for the attack when he grinned and pulled his leg down, standing it firmly on the deck.
Of course the hook wasn’t heavy enough to pull him overboard. It weighed only slightly more than a person, and the guy was a mountain.
He took a step sideways, dragging his boot across the steel, pulling the rope up from the sea.
I glanced round behind me. We’d moved away from the wall, I could just about see my car in the car park, Marty leaning on the railings at the top of the wall, shoutin
g something to Miller on the bridge. Fight or flight? I turned back to Branko, weighed down by the rope tied to his leg but still shuffling across the deck. I needed to attack now, but getting too close would be lethal.
I spotted the range I needed in the shadow of the lifeboat davits, my HK pistol. My fingers closed around the magazine in my pocket. Unfortunately between the gun and me stood Branko, who was now bending over to untie the rope from around his ankle. He saw his own pistol just in front of him, and switched to pick that up instead as I backed away.
There was a grinding noise somewhere below, the deck shuddered. Branko brought the pistol up, still smiling, and squeezed the trigger.
His eyes went wide as he felt the sharp pull on his leg, lifting his foot into the air again. He didn’t get a chance to fire the pistol as the tightening rope forced him to hop to the railings at the back of the ship. He reached the gunwale, his foot was yanked over the top, he screamed as he was forced to do the splits standing up, dropping the gun, nails tearing at his boot. His other leg was pulled tighter against the railings. He looked at me, eyes wide as the implication hit him. The moment stretched on, I couldn’t pull my eyes away: there’s something eerily beautiful about the look on a bastard’s face when they realise they’re dead. Their life, a million questions about what happens next, you can see it in their eyes even as they themselves can’t comprehend it all. His mouth flapped but no sound came.
The rope pulled tighter, something cracked, his leg folded over the railings unnaturally. A deep rumble shook the deck as the propellers churned the sea below, tangled up in the rope, a crunching sound as Branko’s leg was almost wrenched from its socket before he was dragged over the gunwale, out of sight.
I leaned over in time to see him thrashing in the water below. He looked up at me, finally making a sound, it started as a low moan and turned into a horrible scream that was abruptly choked off as he was yanked under the surface. Moments later a series of thuds from the prop jolted the ship.
‘Tyler!’ I looked up to see Miller stood on the bridge wing. ‘I thought you’d split!’
I scooped up my gun and hobbled out from under the second lifeboat. ‘Very much here.’
‘Unless you wanna come back to France with us you better start swimming!’
Blue lights were flashing on the hillside, winding their way down into the village. I looked across at the car park, at the Audi’s headlights. The ship began to turn, sliding sideways as it reached the entrance to the creek.
‘Go!’ shouted Miller.
With one last glance at the bridge I grabbed the railings and leapt over the side, into the sea.
I kicked away from the ship underwater, feeling the pull of its screws as it turned. When I broke the surface the harbour wall was only a few metres away, a ladder descended into the sea further along to my left. I swam for it, looking back at the Tiburon as she completed the 180-degree turn and poured on full power, slipping forward into the estuary that’d lead her back out to the Atlantic. Blue lights pulsed across the superstructure as police converged on the marina.
I climbed the rusty ladder, looking up at Marty as she hung down to help me. We tumbled over the top of the wall together, she ran for the driver’s side of my car. The engine was running, passenger door already open.
‘I drive!’ I said.
‘Don’t be stupid. Get in.’
I looked down at the sodden bandages flapping off my hand, and limped for the passenger side.
Marty accelerated as I fastened my seatbelt. Thanks to the smashed passenger-side window I could just about hear the sirens above the snarling V8. I turned to look over my shoulder as the Tiburon’s lights blinked out. I could picture Miller on the bridge, tapping his foot to Led Zep as he pushed the throttles forward into the night.
Chapter Sixty-three
North Yorkshire
I took out my earphones and unplugged my iPhone from a cable snaking out of the glovebox.
‘Well?’ Marty asked, changing down into third for a roundabout. She looked the wrong way and accelerated, prompting a beep from a van coming up on our right.
‘I think I should drive for a while,’ I said.
‘Relax, it’s only roundabouts I can’t get right.’
‘There are a hell of a lot between here and home.’ It was probably wise she continued to drive: my head was going. The pain had given way to a fuzzy pillowy feeling thanks to the three diamorphine tablets I’d necked half an hour back. I popped another two tablets from the packet and swallowed them.
‘Take it easy on those, they’re not aspirins.’
I tossed the box over my shoulder onto the back seat.
‘So, did you get what you needed?’ she asked.
I nodded. ‘When Fields thought assassins had been sent to kill his old team he made four calls to warn them.’ I threw the wires into the glovebox. ‘I’ve got them all on here, the whole team responsible for my brother’s death. Worked a charm.’ I unplugged the USB cable from the box occupying the CD changer’s usual place, the box I’d pulled out of the Porsche and installed in the Audi while hiding out in Ringo’s garage near Geneva. A nifty piece of kit that was synced up to the satphone, it recorded both the audio and call information for every call into and out of the phone, storing it all on the hard drive for me to download at my leisure.
‘And? Enough to track them down?’
‘More than enough.’ I smiled.
‘You going after them straight away?’
I shook my head. ‘I’ve got all the time in the world. What’s next for you?’
‘I’m gonna take a wild guess and say I’ll be back in Afghanistan soon.’
The clock said eight a.m. I pointed to a retail park coming up on the left. ‘Pull in here.’
The satphone buzzed in my pocket. I shuffled in my seat, took it out and looked at the screen. Holderness, for the fifth time. I waved the phone at a space next to a supermarket at the back.
I took off my seatbelt, waited for Marty to reverse into the spot, then climbed out and stretched. The birds were waking up in the trees, in front of us a steady stream of commuters were queuing at the bright lights of a Maccy’s drive-thru. Drizzle hung in the headlights. I pulled up my hood and took out the phone to call Holderness back.
‘Tyler! I’ve been trying to get hold of you for hours.’
‘Takes a long time to drive to Yorkshire. Besides, it’s Christmas Eve, I’m off work.’
‘Don’t get bloody smart with me, boy! I suppose that shoot-out in Combe Wyndham was nothing to do with you?’
‘Not been down Devon for a while. Don’t know anything about a shoot-out.’
‘Or about the severed arm they found floating in the marina? Bloody cake and arse party.’
‘Maybe I’m due one, seems to me I’m usually cleaning up your mess.’
‘I can’t help you this time, it’s reached the wrong people. Consider this a warning.’
‘A warning? The world’s short of a few Nazis and you’ve got your top prize. I’d say that’s a job well done, what’s different this time?’
‘Oh yes, all well and good, and I’m well versed in papering over your methods, Tyler.’
Marty frowned at me from behind the streaked windscreen. I rolled my eyes at her and sat on the bonnet to keep warm. ‘So what’s the problem?’
‘I suppose it’s a coincidence that this David Fraser, the fella you hired to be on your team in the Alps, worked for Cresswell?’
‘Probably, they’re one of the biggest defence contractors in Europe. A lot of people work for them.’
‘Yes. Strange, though, that he worked for them in Afghanistan in 2011. In the same area where your brother…’
‘Lot of contractors were working around there at the time he died.’
‘Hmmm. And then a coincidence that nobody has heard from him for several days, and now this ex-Marine chap you requested as a replacement,’ I could hear him shuffling paper, ‘here he is, Fields. Worked at Cresswell at ex
actly the same time.’
I didn’t say anything, could just hear Holderness on the other end getting more exasperated.
‘Tyler, I’ll be blunt. You specifically requested him for your Alps team, despite never crossing his path before. Well, God knows what you did to him, and frankly I don’t care, but you then requested Fields, at short notice, to replace him. Doesn’t take a genius to work it out, Tyler. You engineered this whole job into an opportunity to pursue a personal vendetta.’
I massaged my nose, rubbed my eyes. No point – he was spot-on, as usual.
‘Well you’ve gone too far this time,’ he continued.
‘What does that mean? No more jobs? I’ve told you I was out after this one anyway.’
‘No, Tyler. You’ve pissed off the wrong people. If I were you, I’d take some leave. Far away.’
I slid off the bonnet. ‘Don’t call me next time you have shit to clean up.’
I dropped the phone and stamped on it.
Marty wound the window down. ‘Who was that?’
‘Do you have to shoot straight off? It’s Christmas Eve, you know.’ I smiled and held up my bandaged hand. ‘And I can’t really cook a turkey on my own.’
She settled back into the seat. ‘Well I guess I don’t have to head off just yet.’
‘In the meantime, can I interest you in a Sausage McMuffin and substandard tea?’
‘Nothing that could wear sunglasses or shoes.’ She turned the stereo back up and drummed on the steering wheel. ‘And it’s coffee. Black, like my metal.’
Something moved in my peripheral vision, my hand went straight for the pistol in my waistband before remembering it was in the passenger footwell. I turned, it was just a Vauxhall pulling up in a bay further over.
I smiled as I hobbled towards the golden arches. This was it, I was done, no rushing off to the next job, nothing to stop me from finding those four people Fields had called. So this is how it feels to get all your debts paid. I floated across to the takeaway rather than walked. Admittedly all that morphine may have had something to do with it.
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