He jumped, falling for a surprisingly short time before he slammed into the car below. The vehicle sagged under him and the roof, already dented by Sandra, buckled farther. The side windows burst and sprayed glass over Sandra, who squealed and jumped back. It took him a second or two to realise he was all right.
“This way,” Sandra called and set off toward the jetty. Jay bounced off the roof onto the ground, racing to catch up with her.
The jetty had a single entrance that was protected by a wrought iron gate and a high fence. Jay clung to it and stared at the biometric lock, not knowing what to do with it. If he had the right equipment with him, this would be child’s play. Without it…
Sandra pulled him back and fired two shots into the lock at close range, smashing it to pieces. After that, it was easy to get in. Jay guessed that the blokes following them must be up on the flyover by now and easily able to see them. It was too late now to hide on one of the houseboats. But Sandra burst through the gate, sprinting along the jetty toward the far end. A rattle of gunfire behind them was matched by a row of splashes in the water to Jay’s left. He looked back to see the three men up on the flyover. Two seemed to be arguing—probably about whether to risk their necks jumping down—but the third was kneeling with his machine gun spitting fire. The row of splashes tracked toward Jay, then bullets started smashing up the jetty around his feet. He tried to run faster, straining for breath. Ahead, he saw the end of the jetty approaching. There was no way back to shore except back the way they had come. And that would be suicide.
“What the hell are we doing?” he shouted.
“Come on!” was all the reply he got.
The bullets stopped chewing up the planking around him and he chanced another look back. The argument seemed to be over and the three guys were lowering themselves down the side of the flyover. When he looked ahead, Sandra had jumped onto one of the houseboats—the last one on the jetty. She was peering through the boat’s windows. He was with her in a second.
“Cast off,” she shouted at him.
“What?”
“Untie the sodding boat!”
“You’re joking!”
“Just do it!”
He looked around. Extensions of the jetty came out from the main run at right angles and each boat was moored snugly against these spurs, one boat on either side. The boat they were on was tied front and back with thick ropes that were lashed to metal capstans. Jay jumped off the boat and went to the capstan at the back. A bit of tugging and the rope came free. He tossed it onto the boat and was about to run to the other end when a shot zipped past him and another hit the side of the boat. He threw himself aboard and flattened himself to the deck behind the low gunwale. Their pursuers were on the jetty and all three were firing at him. It would take them just seconds to get to the boat unless he did something.
Risking his neck, he took a peek over the edge. They weren’t shooting now, just running hard. He drew his gun and took careful aim. His first shot went wide and so did his second. The constant movement of both boat and jetty wasn’t something he’d noticed until now. The running men scurried off the main jetty, finding cover among the boats, and Jay gave a gasp of relief. It would be several seconds now before they could start shooting back and edging their way closer. He took the time to consider his position.
If anyone had seen or heard the shooting, they must surely have called the police. That meant help was probably already on its way. Yet it was the height of the morning rush hour, and it would take forever for the police to get there. Meanwhile, Jay and Sandra were pinned down on the last boat at the end of a long jetty with three armed men not twenty metres away working out the best way to get to them. The only sensible way he could see of getting out of this was to swim for it—and that didn’t seem like much of an option. Maybe if they could jump from the other side of the boat…
Then the boat’s engine spluttered into life.
From the back of the boat where he was hiding, Jay heard the churning of water as the propeller thrashed it into a foam. He felt the deep throbbing of the engine and the spinning of the prop through his hands and knees, and wondered what the hell Sandra thought she was doing. Their pursuers heard it all too, and Jay saw two of them emerge to see what was going on. He took a shot at one of them and they ducked back out of sight. Sandra’s head appeared from over a rail above him. She whooped a victory cry. “I’ll take her out onto the river through that canal over there.”
Jay couldn’t see a thing from where he was cowering behind the gunwale. “Can you drive one of these things?” he yelled.
“How hard can it be? Bugger. Hang on.”
She ducked back inside for a moment then reappeared. “Something’s wrong. I can’t steer it.”
A shot splintered the wood near her head and she bobbed back inside. Jay popped up and let off a couple of shots. He saw that while they’d been talking, one of the men had moved forward by two whole boats. He also saw what the problem was. The back of the boat was swinging out from the jetty, leaving an increasing gap between him and the gunmen, but the front of the long, narrow boat was still tied to its capstan. There was no way now that he could get onto the jetty to untie it. He’d have to work his way along the deck and hope that he didn’t get shot doing it.
“The boat’s still tied up!” Sandra yelled from above him.
“I know!”
“I told you to cast off. What are you messing about at?”
He glowered up at where her voice was coming from. “I’m just trying to stop the bad guys killing us both, dear. Is that all right? Or shall I just let them come aboard?”
“Stop being such a prat and get us untied!”
“Yes, dear,” he snapped, crawling forward. “Anything you say, dear.”
“And stop calling me ‘dear’ like that. It’s creepy.”
A burst of machine gun fire spattered across the cabins just above Jay’s back and he threw himself flat again. “Well how about a bit of covering fire then?”
The boat had swung right out into the open water now and was almost pointing directly toward the three gunmen, who were steadily advancing toward them. Seeing that the gunwale beside him wasn’t going to hide him much longer, Jay got up on one knee, fired several shots in the general direction of their attackers and sprinted forward to the bow. The rope that tied the boat to the capstan was taut and straining as the boat pushed against it. He tried pulling at it but it wouldn’t budge a millimetre.
“Turn off the bloody engine!” he bellowed. He could see Sandra’s face through the window of what must have been a small bridge. She put a hand to her ear indicating she couldn’t hear him. He gestured angrily at the rope, slapping it to show how taut it was. She leaned forward, peering at him.
Bullets shattered the glass and splintered wood all around her. Horrified, Jay spun back toward the jetty and fired several more rounds at the machine gunner where the man crouched behind the very next boat, just one boat-length away now. And if the machine gunner was there, what was to prevent someone else running along behind the next boat on the pier and shooting from its back?
As soon as he looked, he saw the man, less than six metres away, turning to shoot. Jay’s gun came round and up and he sighted the man along its barrel. He could see his opponent sighting Jay right back. It was just like a scene from his weapons training. A wooden figure would flip up out of nowhere with a painted gun, a stubbly, square jaw, and a painted scowl on its face. Bang, bang, bang! And the figure flipped down again.
This gunman didn’t have an exaggerated scowl. He had a calm, neutral expression. His eyes were a pale blue under light brown hair, his face narrow-jawed and clean shaven. Bang, bang, bang!
Three shots to the man’s head all but tore it apart. For a moment, bile rose in Jay’s throat and he thought he was going to throw up. The dead man toppled backward into the water. In the nick of time, Jay ducked under cover as the machine gunner sought him out. It gave him a chance to look back up at the bridg
e, desperate for a sign that Sandra was okay. What he saw was a bloody face behind a gun, taking careful aim. Jay’s relief was overwhelming. When she fired, he didn’t notice for a few seconds that the machine gun had stopped strafing him. He peered over the gunwale and saw the machine gun lying on the jetty. The man beside it was wounded but alive, groaning and writhing and clutching at his stomach. Sandra fired again, and then again, but not at the wounded man. Jay saw the third gunman running for his life along the jetty, heading for the shore and safety.
The boat’s engine roared, then died. The silence was blissful. Jay rushed back to the bridge and met Sandra coming down a steep flight of steps. She had a couple of small cuts on her forehead that had bled a lot, but she seemed otherwise intact. Without thinking, he grabbed her and hugged her to him.
When he finally let her go, she stood and looked at him with a sloppy grin on her face.
“What?” he asked. But he was smiling too, well aware of the way her eyes were shining. Slowly, they let the moment drift past.
“I’d better make a call,” he said, pulling one of the compads out of his pocket. “The police will be here soon and we’re going to need Bauchet’s help explaining all this.”
Chapter 20: Ready to Go
Samana Karim was wishing she’d never volunteered for this. That guy Sniper and his mates were psycho, and she wasn’t too sure about Klaatu either. It gave her the creeps the way he kept staring at her. But she wanted to get into field work and this was her big break. The section head, Overman, had been so keen to get volunteers who were experienced tekniks he’d have taken anybody. And he did. He took her. Straight out of Aldermaston and into the heart of this operation with barely a moment to reprogram her compatch with her call signs and encryption keys.
They’d tagged her too, with a Galileo global positioning chip injected into her abdominal cavity. It had seemed exciting at the time. She’d gone to the bar they told her about. She’d seen the guy they’d showed her pictures of. Had started a conversation with him. Had said, “Yeah, okay,” as casually as she could when he asked if she was looking for a job, ’cause he knew a guy with a big project on and he could make a few calls for her if she liked. She’d gone to the ladies’ while he made the call, and she’d made a call of her own, telling the MI5 operator that her aunt Najmah was feeling better and she’d be home soon. It wasn’t until she saw the lashed-up field dampener in Klaatu’s van that she realised the operation had stopped going according to plan. There was another one at the warehouse they took her to. So no calls, and no tracking. And now they wouldn’t let anybody out—not for anything—until the job was over. How the hell was she going to tell Overman where she was? For that matter, where the hell was she?
“Nice work,” Klaatu said, leaning over her as she adjusted wave envelopes, tuning the wave guides to the exact specifications the young Pole had given her. She’d heard of Klaatu—who in her line of business had not? In some ways, it was a real buzz to work with him. But she never expected him to look like such a creep, or to keep touching her and “accidentally” brushing against her the way he did.
“It’s going to be a big lob,” she said, “judging by these power figures. I hope we’re a long way from the splashtarget.” She tried to make her voice sound light but, even to her, it sounded strained and nervous.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’re well away from any danger here.”
She tried not to flinch. “We’d have to be at least five kilometres away, maybe ten. Where’s the target?”
He looked at her but said nothing. It made her jittery and flustered.
“I’m only saying… I mean, it’s like, we don’t want to get caught in the backwash, right?”
He stared at her for a few more seconds and said, “You’d better hurry up with that. We’ll be putting the field assembly together in an hour or so.”
She nodded and tried to force a smile. “Yeah. No problem.”
He walked away, leaving her feeling wrung out and frightened. God! What an idiot she was, asking him like that. He had to suspect her now. Didn’t he? The way he’d looked at her. She glanced about the warehouse, not really taking in the high, dirty walls and the piles of equipment. Sniper and his brick friends were out, fetching some stuff they needed. If they’d been there, maybe Klaatu would be talking to them by now. Maybe the big German would be walking over to her with that horrible smirk of his.
She tried to calm herself down. She needed to think. She needed to stop her hands shaking and slow down her racing heart and think. When Sniper got back, she was as good as dead. She was so sure of it, it made every muscle tense. Klaatu had sussed her. He’d have to be an idiot not to. And, whatever he was, he wasn’t that. Which meant she had to get out of there fast.
Once the bricks got back, she wouldn’t stand a chance. But right now, there was only Klaatu. He carried a gun. She’d seen it, tucked into the belt of his trousers. And the other tekniks, of course. They weren’t like her. They were here for the money and the kicks. They’d be on Klaatu’s side if she tried anything. But they weren’t armed. They weren’t psycho creeps like Klaatu, either. It was him she had to worry about.
Without thinking about it, she put down the test equipment she was carrying and stood up. There were three doors in the warehouse: the big sliding doors by the loading bay, a small metal door in the side, and a wooden door at the far end that led to a little office and probably out onto the street. She walked toward the office door. The bathrooms were next to it and she hoped it would just look like she was taking a toilet break.
She tried not to look left or right as she neared the office but, at the last minute, as she turned toward its door, she glanced over her shoulder to where she’d last seen Klaatu. The young teknik was standing with his hands on his hips, watching her. A grim smile was on his face. Yet he hadn’t reached for his gun and he wasn’t running to catch her. She grabbed the handle of the door almost overwhelmed with panic. What did it mean? Why wasn’t he doing anything?
It could only be that there was no way out through the office. Stifling a cry of anguish, she let go of the handle and ran flat out for the little side door. It bounced in her vision as she raced toward it. Her feet slapped against the concrete floor, making a god-awful racket. Everyone must be looking. Klaatu must be chasing her by now. Why couldn’t she hear his footsteps? Why wasn’t he shouting? She daren’t look. She didn’t want to see his face. She had to reach the door first. She was so close. The only way he could stop her now was to shoot her. The idea made her skin crawl as she anticipated the noise, the hot metal slamming into her body. She hit the door with an explosive crash, shoving at the bar-push release, frantically grabbing it and pulling, pushing, yanking at it. But the door didn’t open. The door was locked. The bastards had locked the doors! Of course they’d locked the doors! Only an idiot wouldn’t have expected that. Fear and defeat clamped down on her. It really felt like they were crushing her from the inside. She sagged against the stubborn metal. Her legs were weak and couldn’t hold her any more. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she slumped to the oily concrete floor. Now she could hear Klaatu’s footsteps. He approached her slowly, with all the time in the world.
* * * *
Overman played the recording for Holbrook and Porterhouse in Holbrook’s office. It was a close-up of Sniper’s grinning head, with only a brick wall behind him. The timestamp was just thirty minutes old.
“So you see, Mr. Overman, you’re going to have to do better than that if you want to catch me. Or is your real name Bond, James Bond? Little Samana told me all about you and your sad little spy games before she died. You really shouldn’t have sent out such an inexperienced young thing to do your dirty work. Maybe you’ll have bad dreams tonight thinking about what you’ve done.”
The face in the recording grinned maliciously. “But if you have any more hot little chicks like her, don’t you hesitate to send them right along. Let me tell you about some of the sexy fun we had toget
her before she died—”
Overman cut the playback. Sniper’s face remained frozen on the display, cocky and malevolent.
“Fucking bastard,” Porterhouse growled, looking like he’d tear Sniper’s throat out with his teeth given the chance.
“Bond was Six, wasn’t he?” Holbrook said, absently.
“You think it has any significance?” Overman asked.
“Probably not. Just ignorance, or a careless attitude to the truth.”
Overman looked at his boss, trying to weigh up his response, but gave up. He said, “They found her body twenty minutes ago in Vauxhall Park, just two minutes away from where we are now.”
“He thinks it’s all a fucking game!” Porterhouse snarled.
“We didn’t manage to insert any other agents, did we?” Holbrook said. Overman shook his head. “No. She was the only one.”
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