by Denis Byrne
In the midst of all the bedlam, the Superintendent seized his chance. He still didn’t know whether or not he was witnessing military manoeuvres of some kind, but it was something he hadn’t time to dwell on right now. His head had cleared considerably. He eased himself from where they had propped him against the tree and rotated himself around the trunk, still in a sitting position. Out of view, he stood up and stealthily made his way beyond the backs of the snipers, then crept up behind Harrington. The gunfire was continuing, as was Anna’s increasingly frantic entreaties to the gunmen to keep up the barrage. At the rate they were wasting ammunition, they’d be out of it before long.
Harrington felt someone fumble at the cords which bound his wrists. ‘Shush!’ the Superintendent hissed into his ear. ‘It’s only me.’ Harrington barely heard him over the ongoing fusillade, but the voice was unmistakably that of his superior. Then the blindfold was removed from his eyes. It took a while for everything to come into focus, but before he saw what he knew he really couldn’t have, his wrists were free and he was being quickly led away to the relative safety of a cluster of bushes. The Superintendent pushed him roughly into their embrace, then dived in after him, pulling him down to his knees before sinking down beside him. Then both of them peered through the screening foliage, trying to figure out exactly what was going on.
‘Do you think it was a good idea to call in the army, sir?’ Harrington asked anxiously, as the battle still raged not thirty yards away, watching the ‘tank’ slowly advance on the increasingly jittery looking firing squad. ‘Or are they just here to clean up because the hostages have already been rescued?’
The Superintendent shrugged his shoulders at the question. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, Harrington,’ he replied, ‘but we’re going to have to make contact with Danny again before we get the answers to those questions.’ He felt in his pocket for the Glock, but came up empty-handed. There was no point in even asking Harrington if he was still armed. ‘Somehow or other, I’ve got the feeling this one isn’t quite wrapped up yet.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
As Myles Moran waited for news from his offshore bank, he received a call from a government minister on his payroll. The cabinet meeting had concluded in jubilation, and the Minister for Justice was in the process of having his spin-doctors script the speech which he intended giving on all national television networks at ten o’clock tonight. ‘Ten o’clock?’ Myles queried, puzzled that the broadcast was scheduled to be made before the deadline would run out. ‘Are you certain that is correct?’
‘Positive,’ his informant advised, his voice disguised by means of a sheet of gauze fabric he had covering the mouthpiece of the payphone he was using. He was taking no chances a recording might identify him in the future. ‘He came into the second session of the meeting cock-a-hoop, his chest out a mile, and told everyone he’d just received information the hostages had been freed and the kidnappers were in custody. Then he looked the Finance Minister straight in the eye and told him his personal intervention was responsible for saving the taxpayers five hundred million euros. He said there was no need now for the transfer to be made, that the crisis was over. Something he insisted be there and then written into the official records of the meeting, even though he knew it would be anyway.’
‘Indeed,’ Myles said calmly, as though he’d just learned that something wonderful had befallen him. ‘That’s very interesting. Did the honourable Minister mention how he’d achieved such a feat?’
‘Did he what! He went on about it for the next hour, telling us how he’d supervised the whole thing himself from beginning to end. It’s a wonder he didn’t fracture his hand, he slapped himself on the back so many times with it. And now he’s going to let everyone in the country know what a wonderful job he’s done.’
Myles couldn’t help but smile on hearing this. Politicians were pathetically needful creatures. News of the forthcoming triumphant announcement merely proved that point to him. When the Minister thought the chance for glory was presenting itself, he couldn’t help but grasp it with both grubby hands as quickly as possible. But a sting in the tail might yet serve to bring his self-centred world crashing down around his inflated head. ‘I’m obliged to you, my friend,’ Myles said in reply. ‘But I think his gloating may be a shade premature. When the bells are tolling for the recently deceased, I promise you he’ll rue the day he betrayed our business contract. But I’m afraid I must go now. There are some important matters which require my immediate attention. And thank you once again.’
With that, Myles replaced his mobile in his pocket. He wondered why the Minister was acting in such a manner. Surely he wouldn’t be so irresponsible unless he had received intelligence which he assumed to be correct. It occurred to Myles that a political rival might have arranged for false information to be passed on to him in the hope of derailing his career. And that the fool had taken the bait without bothering to check the truthfulness of its contents, which only went to show how desperate he was becoming. Such people deserved every ounce of shame and humiliation which would shortly be winging his way.
Myles stood up to stretch his legs. He strolled around his fortified office. The contents of the telephone conversation required to be thought about more deeply. If they were true, and he’d absolutely no doubt they were, his mole never having let him down before, it meant that the transfer was now not going to be made. So be it. He’d suffered one or two disappointments in his distinguished career in the past, but they were as nothing compared to the successes he’d masterminded along the way. Yet he still found it difficult to understand why the Minister could be so foolhardy without being absolutely certain of his facts. He’d shortly make a phone call to that gentleman to let him know how much in error he was. But first, he’d check with Miss Conway to ensure that his orders had been carried out regarding the intruders. And tell her that the time had come to execute the hostages. After all, Myles asked himself, what else could a man of honour do under present circumstances?
But Miss Conway wasn’t answering her in-house connector. Nor, for that matter, her mobile phone. Perhaps she was taking a shower. Myles decided to contact Mr. Tattoo. No response. Strange, he thought. He had access to both Mr. Tattoo’s earpiece and mobile, but was met with nothing other than silence from either. Which was mysterious, as Mr. Tattoo was under instructions to be available to his master’s summons at any time of the day or night. Myles wondered - -. No! He’s have been instantly informed by central command if anything was amiss. He immediately set about contacting them to receive an update on proceedings. Another blank. But Myles wasn’t worried due to the fact that he never worried about anything. It was a waste of time. Besides, he’d long ago learned one must always be prepared for the unexpected. He was firmly of the opinion that emergencies arose to make life more exciting.
When he switched on his outside monitors, Myles, despite his inbuilt unflappability, had to admit to a certain sense of surprise. The two USB personnel were in the act of throwing their high-powered rifles in the direction of something resembling a huge silver tortoise which was slowly advancing on them. Myles was thinking that perhaps firing at it would have been more effective, but then, he wasn’t aware that they’d just run out of ammunition. Miss Conway was shouting at them, her face contorted, evidently not at all happy about something or other. Myles switched on the sound.
‘Your side-arms, your side-arms, your side-arms!’ she was shouting, ‘You’ve still got your side-arms!’
But she was shouting to no avail. The USB men didn’t seem in the least bit interested in their side-arms. As Myles watched, both of them took to their heels and fled the scene as fast as their legs could carry them.
‘Come back!’ Miss Conway screamed after them. ‘You’re nothing but a pair of lily-livered cowards!’
My sentiments exactly, Myles thought. Then he watched Miss Conway draw her own handgun and fire at the tortoise. She emptied the contents of her weapon in its direction. But the bullets merely glance
d off its shell. Then she, too, decided to retreat, which appeared to be the most sensible thing to do in the light of what was unfolding. She, he was pleased to see, was running back towards the house, whereas the USB men had headed blindly away from it and had now disappeared from sight. Myles’s brow furrowed in thought. Perhaps there was something to the Minister’s revelation to the cabinet after all. Strange things certainly appeared to have been happening while he was otherwise engaged. Decision time, he decided, had arrived.
*
‘Now!’ the Superintendent hissed at Harrington. They’d been watching developments from the bushes, keeping their heads well down as defected bullets went skimming in all directions. Harrington actually heard a few whining past his ear like irate wasps. But the shooting was over now, and the baffled gunmen had decided that if their high-powered rifles weren’t having any effect on their target, it was time to run for their lives. And when they saw the figures of two large dishevelled tramps arise from a clump of bushes not ten yards in front of their fleeing forms, it did nothing to soothe their frayed nerves. Both of them could recall having much more enjoyable days than this one.
Before either could react, the Superintendent and Harrington were on them, bringing them to the ground with two reasonably well executed rugby tackles. The Superintendent had forgotten all about his injured arm, but the force of the impact made him wince with pain. He knew if he didn’t subdue his man pretty quickly, he could be in trouble. He tried to pin the killer’s shoulders down with his knees, but he was up against a determined opponent. Though not nearly as big as the Superintendent, he was no weakling. And he still had his loaded handgun strapped to his side. He struggled to reach it with all the desperation of a drowning man reaching for an overhanging tree branch. If he could free either that or his hunting knife, he’d make short work of his attacker.
Beside them, Harrington and the second killer were locked in combat. The Superintendent could hear grunts and heavy breathing as they wrestled each other for supremacy. He was too busy trying to subdue his own adversary to check on how Harrington was doing. If the string of oaths coming from the gunman was anything to go by, Harrington was winning the battle. The Superintendent was happy enough that he now had his own opponent under control. He’d suddenly gone very quiet, as though to acknowledge defeat. But, unknown to the Superintendent, the killer was only playing possum, deciding on this course of action when he realised struggling against his larger opponent was getting him nowhere. His fingers were inching towards the brass button of his holster. He was doing it so slowly, the Superintendent didn’t realise what he was up to. He hadn’t even noticed that he was still armed. After seeing him toss his rifle at the tortoise in despair, he’d taken it for granted that that was it. He was wondering what he should do with him now that he had him pinned down. Then, before he realised how it had happened, he found himself looking into the muzzle of a gun pointed directly towards his face.
*
Anna was gasping after her frantic dash to the house. She slipped inside the main entrance, then locked it gratefully behind her. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the door, sucking in great draughts of air, trying to get her breathing to return to normal. She was furious with both herself and those spineless USB snipers. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong had done so. The one and only intruder Teddy had captured had escaped. And Teddy himself was now in the hands of the police. She shuddered at the recollection of seeing how he’d been overcome, then solidified. What sort of newfangled weapons were causing these things to happen? She felt so ashamed of herself. She’d no idea how she was going to explain - -.
‘Ah, Miss Conway, I’m pleased to see you’ve made a safe return. I was becoming slightly anxious you might not be so fortunate as to escape unscathed.’
Anna gave a start at the sound of Myles’s voice. She hadn’t heard him approaching. Her eyes shot open. Seeing him standing there before her made her feel worse than she was already feeling. She opened her mouth to say something, but Myles held up a hand to forestall her. ‘You mustn’t reproach yourself, Miss Conway,’ he told her on seeing her crestfallen expression. ‘You’ve acquitted yourself admirably against odds which appear to me to be not only overwhelming, but also extremely fascinating. For my own part, I must admit my interest to become more closely acquainted with the methods being employed increases moment by moment.’
‘You were watching?’ Anna managed to ask.
‘I was, but I fear I missed the opening performance. And as central command and everyone else have deserted their posts like rats from a sinking ship, please be kind enough to inform me exactly what occurred prior to those other cowards fleeing for their lives and leaving you to the mercy of that metallic object. I’m of the opinion a hasty exit may shortly be required. Sometimes, Miss Conway, discretion is indeed the better part of valour.’ He hesitated a few seconds and casually studied his fingernails before adding almost as an afterthought. ‘It appears all our hard work on this particular venture has been in vain. But before we abandon it completely, we’re duty bound to fulfil the terms of our side of the contract. I want you, Miss Conway, to take care of the girl. I’ll eliminate the other gentleman myself.’ He smiled pleasantly, as though he’d just ordered her to engage in some harmless pursuit such as flower-arranging, though couldn’t but notice the colour drain from Anna’s cheeks at what he’d said. ‘I trust I can rely on you in that direction?’ Anna nodded her head slowly, realising that the command she’d been dreading had finally arrived. ‘Good!’ Myles said. ‘That’s settled so. Now please enlighten me regarding the events I need to know about.’
He listened intently to every detail. The more he heard, the more serene his expression became. A faint look of relief flickered in his eyes on hearing that Mr. Tattoo, even if somewhat indisposed at the moment, hadn’t been gunned down by the intruders. Myles had assumed that that was the only possible way they could have stopped him completing his mission. And apart from Miss Conway herself, Mr. Tattoo held a special place in his affections. As did his many useful talents. Something must be done to engineer his release, which, it appeared, was going to present a delightful challenge. And was something Myles was eagerly looking forward to as he bade Miss Conway follow him back to his office, so that they could once more study the outside monitors to see how best to go about spiriting Mr. Tattoo away from his captors. He’d already engaged the machinery himself to uncover the helicopter at the rear of the building. It was now sitting like a large dragonfly in the centre of the pad, not ten paces from the emergency escape door of his secret office.
*
The Superintendent saw his entire life flash before him in the brief second before he heard the safety-catch of the killer’s gun being released. Not again, was all he could think, as he stared death in the face for the second time within the space of a few hours. And no Mr. Pearson to save him this time.
The killer’s face was twisted in a leer as he looked up mockingly into the eyes of his victim. This was what it was all about. Turning the tables, then savouring the moment before you squeezed the trigger. Seeing the terrified expression of someone you were about to kill. As far as he was concerned, there were few pleasures in life to compare with it.
But his delay was also his undoing. Had he not lingered to fulfil his sadism, the Superintendent would have been destined for an early grave. As the gunman cocked his weapon, finally deciding the time had come to despatch this smelly tramp to a campfire in the sky, Harrington came hurtling through the air like a human cannonball. He caught the Superintendent full in the chest with his shoulder just as the gun went off, sending him sprawling in an awkward tangle of limbs to the grass. The bullet went screeching harmlessly up towards the heavens. Before the killer knew what was happening, Harrington leapt to his feet and kicked the gun out of his grasp.
But the USB man, even though taken by surprise, called on all the years of training he’d undergone to make him what he was. As the gun went flying, he had t
he presence of mind to grab Harrington’s ankle and bring him crashing down. Harrington’s head hit the ground with a sickening thud, momentarily stunning him. As he lay there dazed, the man jumped to his feet and whipped his hunting knife from its sheath.
He’d learned his lesson. This time, he told himself, get the job done and gloat afterwards. He dropped to his knees and raised the knife to sink the blade to the hilt into Harrington’s chest. Less than six inches from its target, the killer found his wrist clamped in a grip of steel as the Superintendent’s huge hands closed around it. Try as he did, the man couldn’t budge his arm another inch. Then Harrington’s fist few up to connect with his chin, despatching him to Dreamland.
‘Thanks, sir,’ Harrington said as he slowly got to his feet, feeling the back of his head with tentative fingers.
‘Likewise, I’m sure,’ the Superintendent replied, rubbing his chest gingerly. ‘Isn’t that what comrades are for? Eh? One good turn and all that.’ He glanced at Harrington’s first wrestling partner, pleased at what he saw. ‘Nice job, Harrington. Now make the same sort of package of this one.’
Harrington went about tying up the second killer the same way he had the first. He used the man’s own belt, bandolier, bootlaces and shirt to bind him, his hands tied behind his back, his ankles securely bound together. Teddy Tattoo would have nodded his head in approval at the job Harrington carried out. Top marks being for having the foresight to remove boots, socks, jackets and trousers, then hiding the lot in the bushes. Now the pair lay face downwards in the grass in their underwear, out to the world, no longer a threat to anyone.
Harrington and the Superintendent were picking up the killer’s weapons to rearm themselves for the task ahead, when the armadillo hove into sight. They scooped up a gun and a hunting knife apiece, not having a notion whether what was approaching was friend or foe, prepared to take it on if that was what they had to do. Then they heard Danny’s voice coming from somewhere behind it. ‘I hope the Super and Harrington are all right. They disappeared into thin air after all that firing started.’